


Liz is the Heir of Slytherin (but apparently she doesn't look like it)

by Kathi2017



Series: The Life of Liz North [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Gen, Gryffindor, Hogwarts, Hufflepuff, Lycantrophy, Minerva has to sort out mental problems, Miri and Liz are proud Slytherins, Miri is stubborn as hell, Orphans, Ravenclaw, Sisters, Slytherin, Slytherin Pride, Students, Werewolves, although they don't know where the Chamber of Secrets is located, and it's probably pathological, but the girls love her nevertheless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 48,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26064808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kathi2017/pseuds/Kathi2017
Summary: THIS WORK IS PART OF A SERIES, PLEASE READPART 1FIRST!(Or at least read the series description, for Merlin's sake.)Liz's and Harry's second year at Hogwarts begins, and again Harry can't resist getting into trouble. But Liz has to deal with various problems, too - and most of them have nothing to do with her Slytherin heritage.Between broken wands, hearts and bones she faces the challenge of hiding her lycantrophy, studying Defence on her own and finding the Chamber of Secrets. At least she doesn't have to pass her Transfiguration exam...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Original Female Character(s), Minerva McGonagall & Original Female Character(s), Minerva McGonagall & Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall/Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Silvanus Kettleburn's Nephew
Series: The Life of Liz North [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872493
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	1. Let's talk about...

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this work are exactly copied from the "Harry Potter" series by J. K. Rowling. I do not mean to call her work my own, but it was necessary to copy some of the text while rewriting scenes from a different perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by
> 
> [Sex Education and Other Unintended Misadventures at Hogwarts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24354892) by TheLostLibran.

Liz strolled along Privet Drive at a leisurely pace. She had persuaded Minerva to let her stay in Great Britain a little longer – she would join Miranda in France only when she thought she had had enough holidays on her own.

When she spotted Harry in a garden, he was plucking weeds from a flowerbed. “Hey, Potter,” she said casually, uninvited stepping into the garden and over to him. “Happy Birthday.”

Harry lifted his head in surprise. “Er… thank you.” Liz could tell from his face that she was probably the last person he had expected.

“Great weather for doing the gardening, isn’t it?”

“Mmh…” Harry dedicated himself to the plants again.

“You could really look somewhat happier. Personally, I love weeding – especially on my birthday,” Liz claimed. Harry only groaned as an answer. “No, really, outside chores are the best of all! It’s not my usual territory, but if you insist…” She knelt down next to him, fastened her ponytail and started pulling weeds as well.

“Don’t look like you’ve seen a ghost, I’m helping you!” she explained, when Harry stopped in his work again and gave her a confused look. “And before you ask, my jeans have already been dirty when I left home this morning.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he told her sceptically.

“Neither do I – I mean, like, I’m not even getting paid for it – but okay, never mind.”

“My aunt and uncle are upset anyway because Mr Mason, some rich guy who my uncle wants to work with, is coming tonight with his wife – what do you think they will say when they see a stranger working in their garden?”

“Oh, let that be my problem,” Liz said lightly. “Your aunt will be thankful for my presence, if any. You still live in that cupboard?”

“No, not anymore. I’ve got a bedroom meanwhile, but all my schoolbooks and my broomstick and so on are locked up in the cupboard. I have no idea how I’m supposed to revise without my books.” Well… Liz wasn’t planning on revising either – although she bloody well _knew_ where her books were… “But the worst of all is that they don’t let Hedwig out of her cage,” Harry complained now. “She’s bored, and then she makes noise, and we are all woken up in the middle of the night.”

Liz snickered. “Can’t be much worse than sleeping on a sofa in your mum’s office and having to listen to your sister’s and her boyfriend’s moans from the bedroom next door.”

Now Harry looked even more confused than before. “Moans?”

“Uh… forget it. I don’t want to bore you with stories about where I sleep. What do you think of birthdays? I mean, I understand rules like ‘you’re old enough to drink alcohol from now’, but I don’t get that thing of ‘you’re twelve now, here’s a new bike because you’re twelve’ – like, what did you achieve? You didn’t die, what kind of achievement is that?”

“Surviving my aunt’s whims is really worth a reward,” Harry grinned. “Actually, I should get all of my cousin’s presents.”

Liz snorted a laugh. “If that counts, I deserve first-hand clothes,” she considered. “I’m the one living with Minerva McGonagall, after all. If there’s one thing I know about grown-up women, it’s that they would never do chores themselves as long as there’s a child who can do it for them.”

“Really?” Liz didn’t know Harry thought about aunt Petunia, who was cleaning the house right now, so she only wondered how he could have missed that fact.

“Hell, I even have to brush my mum’s hair like she couldn’t hold the brush herself!”

While Harry was trying to find counterarguments, his aunt stepped out of the house. “Harry! Who is that girl?” she snapped. “And what is she doing with my flowers?!”

Liz immediately got up and wiped her dirty hands on her jeans. “Good day, Mrs Dursley,” she said calmly. “I am Elizabeth North – well, I think it’s better if we don’t shake hands. I was visiting Mrs Figg – you know, the lady who owns so many cats – and then I saw Harry in the garden. We met at King’s Cross last year, I didn’t know he lived here, but really, you have such a nice garden! And when Harry told me that Mr and Mrs Mason are coming, I thought I’d better help him, so you can be sure the garden looks good when they arrive.”

Not for the first time, Harry was surprised how innocent and polite Liz could appear if only she wanted to. Aunt Petunia believed every single word and even allowed that Liz would help until they were done with weeding.

When his aunt had disappeared again, Harry shook his head incredulous. “Amazing,” he said. “You don’t even look like my cousin, and she loves you nevertheless.”

Liz smiled her Slytherin smile. “Let’s just say, I know a thing or two about people.”

“Mmh. How did you even get here? Don’t you live in Scotland?”

“Public means of transport,” she told him. “Seriously. When we’re done with the weeds, I’ll take the bus back home.”

“You’re taking a bus from Little Whinging to… somewhere in Scotland? That’d be more like ten different buses, and it would take ages,” Harry doubted. “Are you staying at London for the holidays, or illegally apparating to Hogsmeade? You can tell me; I won’t pass it on!”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Gosh, Harry. It’s a magical bus, it takes an hour and a half at most until I’m home. But I did also use normal buses to get here, yes. By the way, I’m still ages away from apparating, not to mention doing it illegally. And buses and trains are much more convenient than apparating or portkeys, I don’t get why we don’t use them all the time.”

They worked in silence until they were done; it took them just a few more minutes anyway. Pulling the last pest plant from the soil, Liz stood up and patted the dirt off her hands and knees. She would try to find a fountain to wash her hands later. “Well, then,” she said, already heading for the street.

“See you,” Harry said.

“Somewhen,” she added.

“Diagon Alley, probably.”

“Yeah, probably.”

* * *

“Severus – sorry, I don’t want to disturb you…”

“We’re on our summer holidays, Minerva. You don’t disturb me, even if you wanted to.”

The two of them were standing in front of the greenhouses on the Hogwarts grounds: Severus dressed in his usual black robes, Minerva wearing jeans and a muggle t-shirt.

“Oh, good. I’ve been looking for you because… because…” She grabbed her long plait and turned it between her hands sheepishly.

“You need to talk to me,” Severus finished her sentence. “Right?”

“Exactly.” Minerva went on playing with her hair. “Do you… May I…”

His lips twitched in amusement. “There’s no need to be shy, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.”

She gave him an annoyed look. “I know who I am! It’s just… it’s a rather personal issue.”

“Minerva, dear, it almost sounds like you wanted to ask me out.”

“God, Severus! Not _that_ personal.” She let go of her plait as they both moved towards the lake. “Did you read the list of books the students need for Defence next year?”

Severus nodded.

“Well, I was wondering whether those books were actually worth their price. In my opinion, it’s extremely unlikely that Liz could learn something from them that Miranda’s old books can’t teach her, and Lockhart’s books are not exactly cheap.” In fact, Lockhart’s collected works weren’t in line with her budget, not in the slightest. “I decided Liz should not read those books at all – and if that’s a problem, I shall have a serious talk with Lockhart.”

“Good decision,” Severus commented. “But you do realise she’s not my daughter?”

“I do,” Minerva assured him. “And I further realise that we did and still do most of the parenting together, so I thought you should get a say in this matter – in case you think Liz should read Lockhart’s books for some reason, I’ll respect that.”

“Don’t need to respect me,” he grumbled, “in terms of that writing idiot we’re in complete agreement for once. He’s always been a pain in the neck, and since he started writing it only got worse – all the ladies are at his feet.”

Minerva laid her head to one side. “Not _all_ of them.”

“That’s because you don’t like blonde guys.”

She sat down by the lake and put her bare feet into the water. “No, that’s because I’m called Minerva I-can-do-it-better McGonagall for a reason.”

“Really?” Severus took a seat next to her, crossing his legs in order to keep his shoes away from the water. “I thought your nickname was Minerva My-accent-is-damn-hot-and-I-know-it…”

This made her laugh although she was still worried about her precarious financial situation. “Seriously?”

“Sure.” His hands wandered up her back and started massaging her shoulders.

Minerva visibly stiffened under his grip. “Okay, what do you want?”

“Is it so difficult to believe I’m just a nice person who wants you to feel good?”

She sighed. “Severus, you _are_ not a nice person, and I _know_ that. You wouldn’t give me a free massage without expecting something in return.”

“Actually, there is something I’d like to ask for…”

“See?”

“You shut up. I want you to stop worrying about the Wolfsbane and let me care for the potions ingredients and the new cauldron that Liz asked for.”

“Haven’t I told you to not use your Legilimency on me?”

Severus just shrugged. “It doesn’t need magic to know what you’re thinking about.”

“But –”

“I heard you let Dumbledore pay for the dentist.”

“Dentists are much cheaper than Wolfsbane – do you even know how many werewolves have to prostitute themselves to pay for their potion?”

“Don’t take it personally, but no one expects you to do so.”

Minerva let herself fall backwards into the grass. “Do you mean the part about paying or…”

“Hi, guys!” Liz appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

“… the part about getting paid?” Minerva finished her sentence.

Liz took her shoes off and sat with the two adults. “May I join the conversation?”

“Of course,” Severus said generously. “We were just discussing whether your mum should walk the streets to make money for your Wolfsbane.”

Minerva reached out to poke him in the side. “Idiot.”

“Let’s keep it realistic,” Liz said matter-of-factly. “She wouldn’t find the time for it.”

The Transfiguration teacher sat up again. “I’m so glad you’re mature enough to discuss this topic without giggling awkwardly. Although I’m still wondering why we have to discuss it at all.”

Severus didn’t go into it. “Have you ever thought about how naive kids could see you walking along an alley and tell their parents they’d seen an alley cat?”

Liz snickered. “Even the famous Harry Potter probably thinks ‘walking the streets’ is the same as ‘going for a walk’. I visited him today, and when we talked about our bedroom situations… oh god, this was so cringey… I mentioned that having a noisy owl in your bedroom couldn’t be much worse than sleeping on a sofa and hearing your sister and her boyfriend moan, and he looked at me like: _Moan? But why should they moan in their sleep?_ I felt like a scientist who’s talking about stuff that no one else knows.”

Minerva stroked her hair. “The good news is: Now that your sister’s engaged, that won’t happen again. Besides, you’re all given the ‘talk’ this year – and then every year, to refresh your memory. Not like you needed it.”

“Because second year is not a little late to tell them kids: _Yes, people do have sex, and yeah, that’s what they do when they excuse themselves to go to bed…_ ” Liz looked at them in turns. “Let’s be honest, that’s ridiculous.”

“I’ve always said it’s too late to explain menstruation to twelve-year-olds,” Minerva agreed. “But on the other hand, we don’t want to scare the first years with that lesson. Although…” she threw Severus a side glance, “… _you’d_ scare everyone with your talk.”

“My talk is completely harmless, compared to Slughorn’s!” he defended himself. “After his speech I declared to remain a celibate, I mean, it was truly terror-inducing.”

“A decision which didn’t last so long,” Minerva added.

“Which is proving that no speech in the world can be bad enough to spoil your interest in certain things, not his talk and surely not mine.”

Liz looked at Severus with an ominous spark in her eyes. “Gimme dat memory.”

“Let me think… no.”

“Why not? You don’t look like it had influenced your sanity.”

“Liz, no,” Minerva came to his aid. “I heard that talk during my work placement at Hogwarts…”

“That was in 1977, during my seventh year.”

“… yeah, and it’s definitely not a memory I would miss if I’d suffer from amnesia.”

“Okayyy…” Liz said slowly. “Then maybe when I’m older. So, you’re the one to tell Potter how humans really procreate?” She looked at Severus curiously.

“Actually,” he said thoughtfully, “Lockhart is younger than me, so it’ll be his turn this time.”

Minerva looked rather sceptical. “Technically, Aurora is younger than me, too,” she remembered him. “But we found out that it’s better if I take over the lecture. We’ll see how experienced Lockhart is in this area, and if it’s all too horrendous, you’ll have to do it.”

Severus snorted contemptuously. “Talking about all the ladies at his feet, you would expect a little bit of knowledge from him.”

“Mmh…” Minerva said doubtfully. “Would you?”


	2. Enjoy your Holidays

The next day, Harry received a letter by mail. The sender was _Elizabeth North_ , the addressee _Harry Potter, Privet Drive No. 4, Little Whinging, Surrey._ The envelope even had the right post stamp on it. It looked so boring and inconspicuous that Uncle Vernon didn’t tear it apart immediately but brought it with Harry’s breakfast. The letter read like follows:

_Harry –_

_I didn’t forget how we met yesterday, but there’s a few things I’d like to say. Quite a few. Stuff I couldn’t tell you in person because it’s all school-related. (And far too awkward to say it loud.) First I’d like to make it clear that I DON’T LIKE YOU, and that’s not your fault or the fault of anyone else and I’d love you to not try to change a thing about it. Not only because you’re being celebrated for merely existing – I’m just so fucking jealous. Jealous of your Hogwarts letter, jealous of the choice you had about your Hogwarts house, jealous of the money you have, jealous of the attention you get. Personally, I didn’t receive a Hogwarts letter. Everyone’s talking about that exciting moment when they got their letter, and I didn’t even have such a moment. For me, there was no ‘Dear Miss North, we are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry’, only my sister telling me ‘Can you spare a minute, Minerva told me to look whether my old uniforms fit you’. Then at the sorting on our first schoolday, I heard you whispering ‘not to Slytherin’ and the Sorting Hat was like, yeah, okay, you’re not going to Slytherin. But I desperately wanted to be sorted into Slytherin, and if that wouldn’t work, at least into Ravenclaw, and I told the Hat about that, but it was just like, no, sorry, can’t do that if I want to keep my job. Absolutely ridiculous. Like – I’m even related to Salazar Slytherin, why do they have to put me into Gryffindor? And make my mum be my Head of House? Don’t they try to avoid the accusation of favouritism? By the way, the Gryffindors’ special gift is bravery to the point of idiocy. Am I an idiot? Maybe. Am I brave? Definitely not. And as if that wasn’t enough, Min’s buying you a new broomstick. Everyone knows your rich. Or at least Hagrid and Dumbledore and Minnie and I know. And everyone knows I probably had more money if they’d put me into an orphanage. But no, Min sees that her daughter is dying of brainfreeze, so she draws the only logical conclusion and buys that rich kid Harry a broomstick, like he couldn’t afford one himself. And when she’s talking to her ~~colae~~ colleagues (excuse my bad spelling, it’s hard to concentrate at the moment) about the corridor on third floor, it’s always about keeping Harry out there because it’s dangerous. All the other pupils, who have parents and all that, and her own daughters, whose death she’ll have to explain at her next family meeting, don’t matter. It’s all about Harry, the saviour of the wizarding world. I mean – we both know that I’m probably more skilled at magical and non-magical self-defence, duelling, setting things on fire than you, but I haven’t almost died yet (as far as we know), so I’m basically worthless compared to you. I totally get that point of view when we’re talking about yellow press, but Minnie? WHY?! She once told me that she had nearly adopted you, too – I’m so glad she didn’t. Otherwise it had got inconceivably narrow in our flat, and all that jealousy crap had started ten years before. All of us would be starving until our first schoolday, when she would finally allow you access to your vault at Gringotts – and because it’s your money and apparently you’re not to keen on benefiting anyone but yourself, she wouldn’t spend it for me and Miranda and neither would you. Maybe you would’ve used your own cash for that broomstick, but that wouldn’t make it much less depressing to see how my sister’s got a lucrative job, my brother’s inherited a fortune and I’m working eight to ten hours a day without getting paid. (Min says, I can ask the guys from the Ministry for money when I’m fourteen, if I ask earlier it’s child labour. Ridiculous.) So… I think I made it plain why you’re rather antipathetic to me, and you’re more than welcome to think the same about me. If we play by my rules, maybe we can make it through the next six years without major difficulties. One last request: Please don’t feel depressed because you’ve got one potential friend fewer than you thought. (Hope that was understandable.) Every time someone tells me to get lost, another girl’s falling for you – that should be quite enough. _

_ Enjoy your holidays. _

_Liz_

_P.S.: We’ll get some new lecture next year – would be wise of you to buy your earplugs already._

* * *

When Liz rushed through her mum’s office and into the bedroom, Minerva was extremely busy lying on the sofa and getting snogged by a man that Liz had never seen before… as far as she could tell after the split second she looked at the two of them. “Sorry if I’m impolite, just need to get my suitcase…”

At first it looked like her presence didn’t bother them – but only until she took her shoes off and noticed her soaking wet socks. “NO!” she cried theatrically. “Why, just why is it always me?!”

Moments later, the adults stood on the doorstep. “Elizabeth,” Minerva said only a little bit sheepish. “My daughter, who’s got a penchant for being overly dramatic. What’s the matter, Liz?”

Liz gesticulated at her socks wildly. “ _My feet are bleeding,_ ” she said exorbitantly articulately. “ _What_ does that tell us?”

Minerva sighed. “You need new shoes, I know… can you stay on the bed for a moment, I’ll get you a towel.”

While she knelt down to clean Liz’s feet with a wet tissue and heal the small wounds where the toes had excoriated each other, her lover apparently felt the need to pick a quarrel. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a daughter?!” he accused her.

“Um, I’m pretty sure I  _ did _ tell you, because I remember you saying it wasn’t a problem?” Minerva took a tin of healing ointment from her bedside table and rubbed her daughter’s feet with it.

He lowered his voice. “Would you please tell me how this is supposed to work while that girl is sleeping in the bed next to us?”

“No need to be so quiet,” Minerva said calmly. She got up from the floor and took the bloody socks and towel to the bathroom. “She can still hear you.”

Liz hopped from the bed and searched for a clean pair of socks in the wardrobe. “ _She_ is flying to France anyway,” she informed him. “And she’s not coming back before your… relationship has ended all by its own.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snorted. “It takes eighteen hours to get there. _ By car. _ You can’t just fly there on a broomstick.”

Minerva returned from the bathroom. “Right, that’s why she’s taking the Knight Bus for the first part of the way.” She rummaged around in the wardrobe until she had found a threadbare pair of shoes that had once belonged to Miri. “Do you think you can take those until we find the time to get you new ones? Your sister’s got a bigger size of shoes than you, but at least they won’t make your toes bleed.”

“She’s got a  _sister?!_ ” 

“A sister in her twenties who’s already waiting in France,” Minerva said, still calm. “I told you about her as well. And before you start calculating, I’m not her mother.”

“A half-sister, then.”

“Why don’t you eat a few biscuits from the tin on my desk and cool down a little bit?” she suggested, handing Liz her packed suitcase, her coat and the shoulder bag with biscuits and water for the way. “I’ll bring her down to the broom shed and be back in a minute.”

At the broom shed, Minerva took her old racing broomstick from her locker and gave it to Liz. The broomstick had slowed down a little over the years, but it still reached about the same speed as a Silver Arrow. “You’ve got the Wolfsbane?”

“Miri took it with her.”

“Compass?”

Liz pulled one out of her pocket and showed it to her mum.

“Don’t lose it. Address?”

Liz took a sheet of paper out of the biscuits-and-water-bag. Written on it was the address of Miri’s ex-boyfriend who lived in France.

“You find the way?”

Liz smiled. “Even if not, what could you do to help me? I’ll just ask a few people. Don’t worry, I’m good at French directions.”

“If you mean… have fun and be careful.”

“You too.” She hugged her mum, then she picked up suitcase and broomstick and left the Hogwarts grounds.

After a short but tiring while in the Knight Bus, several comparatively relaxing hours on a broomstick, a successful inconspicuous landing manoeuvre and reams of stories about having to deliver the broom to a certain address, could you please tell me how I get there, Liz finally reached the address Miri had told her. When she rang the doorbell, Miri’s ex opened. “ Hi,” he said in English. “So, you’re Miri’s little sister.”

“Well observed,” she replied in French. “Can I come in?”

Liz leant her broomstick against the wall near the coat rack, next to Miri’s old Silver Arrow that she had inherited from her Mum. Then she went to the kitchen, where Miri was busy making coffee.

She snickered as Liz had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss her. “I can’t help the feeling you’re smaller every time I see you,” she said in French.

“Minerva says I’m average height for a second year.”

“Minerva says a lot,” Miri considered. “Doesn’t make it all true. Just think of ‘that’s no problem’… ‘I really didn’t drink that much’… ‘We reached an agreement without shouting at each other like idiots’…”


	3. Diagon Alley

Liz’s French vibes didn’t last for long. On a Wednesday morning, a few days after her arrival, Minerva apparated straight into the kitchen where Liz was having breakfast and told her they had to buy her shoes and cauldron today.

“If we’re doing it that way, you could’ve just apparated me to France,” Liz muttered. “But okay, let’s go to London when we’re already around.”

“I didn’t know about this either,” Minerva explained. “But for some reason Albus wants Severus and me to go to Diagon Alley today, and I don’t see what we should do there except buying your school supplies.”

Minerva apparated them to Hogsmeade to pick up Snape, who was in a particularly bad mood. “Severus, please!” she begged him, “I don’t want this either, but we have no choice!”

Liz moaned. “Stop acting like you got a deathly mission on your wedding day.”

Snape sighed. “Liz, you have no idea of the plans we had for today.”

“No… but it’s not hard to guess.” Snape’s plans definitely included brewing, brewing and brewing; Minerva had probably hoped for things that Liz didn’t even want to think about.

When they got to Diagon Alley, Minerva sighed abysmally. “Leaky Cauldron?” Snape suggested, and Minerva agreed. “Leaky Cauldron.”

They sat in the Leaky Cauldron for what felt like hours. The adults had propped their chins into their hands and stared at their drinks like they had to die tomorrow, and Liz was really bored to death.

“’f you wait a few minutes, I could go to Gringotts…” Snape said lazily.

Minerva raised her hand for a half-hearted wave. “Bye.”

He let his half-empty glass where it was and headed for the door. Liz downed her glass of water and got up, too. “I’m going for a walk,” she announced. “Look if I meet someone I know.”

Minerva raised her hand again. “Bye.”

Once out of the door, Liz didn’t think of going back so soon. She sauntered along Diagon Alley a little bit, then she decided to take a look at the other magical streets – she hadn’t told Minerva where she wanted to go, after all. In Knockturn Alley, Liz was just walking past Borgin and Burkes when Draco Malfoy and his father came out.

“Hi!” she said to Draco, then immediately curtsied – for some reason she was always wearing a long skirt when she met Mr Malfoy – and smoothed aforementioned skirt. “Good morning, Mr Malfoy.” Her smile wasn’t even fake, so pleased she was about meeting the Malfoys.

“Hi, Mudblood,” Draco said. Liz knew he meant it as a joke – a rather macabre one – and so she only corrected him: “It’s _mixed._ Not _mud._ ”

Mr Malfoy, however, grasped his son’s shoulder and forced Draco to look at him. “Elizabeth is not a mudblood,” he scolded. “Try to get that into your thick skull!”

“Yes,” Draco mumbled.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

“Yes, Sir,” Draco said, straightening up, and now his father let him go. “Why is he so fond of defending your honour?” he asked Liz as they went on.

“Connectionssssss,” Liz hissed in Pseudo-Parsel.

“Elizabeth…” Mr Malfoy said in a warning tone, and Liz quickly changed the topic.

“You know what’s strange? I’ve been to France for a few days, and none of the Frenchmen care if you’ve got glasses or a scar in your face or – well, they do care about broomsticks, I had to carry one around a muggle town lately – but I’m sure, if I would get myself into dangerous situations, they wouldn’t ask first how many times I saved the world –”

“Be quiet, Elizabeth.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“But she’s got a point –”

“That applies to you, too.”

“Yes, Sir.”

* * *

When Severus came back into the Leaky Cauldron and Liz was gone, Minerva had to admit she had dozed off at the table.

“Where has she gone?” Severus asked.

Minerva blinked slowly. “Who?”

“Liz. Elizabeth. Your daughter.”

“Oh. Right. Wanted to look for people she knows.” Minerva rubbed her eyes.

“Merlin, when did you go to bed?”

“7 am, I think. Besides, it’s Minerva, not Merlin. You?”

He didn’t even smile about her joke. “We got home at 6.30, so… quarter to seven at the latest.”

“Late.”

“Complia… comparedly… well, you know what I mean.”

“Comparatively.” Minerva smirked. “Do we have time for coffee?”

“We’ve always got time for coffee.”

* * *

They walked in silence until they got to Diagon Alley again, where they met Minerva and Snape.

“I’m not going to pretend I’ve been worried sick,” Minerva begun, “but _where on earth_ have you been?”

“Knockturn Alley,” Mr Malfoy answered. “We met in front of Borgin and Burkes.”

“Elizabeth!”

“Save your energy,” Liz dared to say. “I already got that talk from Mr Malfoy.” Or at least the ‘Elizabeth!’-part.

“I doubt it, but okay.” As Minerva looked at Mr Malfoy, her eyes were something along the lines ‘Fuck off, Malfoy!’, while his looked more like ‘McGonagall, what the heck… oh, forget it.’

“Now?” Minerva asked impatiently but still lazily.

“Flourish&Blotts?” Snape suggested. “Guess Dumbledore wants us there; when he threw me out of bed at half past seven, he said something like: ‘Isn’t it a wonderful day to buy the new books for Liz?’ and I was like, first, that’s not my business, second, Liz doesn’t need new books, and third, she’s not even in Great Britain… but that’s a different story.”

Minerva yawned and adjusted the needle of her Celtic hair clasp. “Flourish&Blotts then. Talking about beds, I bet my left hand Aurora’s still sleeping in hers.”

“One could forthright get envious.”

Liz couldn’t believe her ears. “Does that mean your plans for today were sleeping until teatime?”

Mr Malfoy suddenly seemed surprisingly interested in their conversation. “May I ask why Professor Sinistra is still asleep?”

“You may, but whether you get an answer…” Snape murmured.

“Is it something I’d like to hear about?”

Finally, Minerva got soft. “Don’t know if you’d like to hear that – anyway, there was an extraordinary summer holidays staff party by the Young Teachers Society, and it would be foolish to leave such a party before dawn.” ‘Young Teachers Society’ was, as Liz knew, a staff-intern nickname for Minerva, Snape and Professor Sinistra, the three youngest teachers at Hogwarts. “Don’t laugh, Malfoy. I have every right to be tired.”

The Malfoys easily overtook Liz and the two tired professors. When the latter eventually reached the bookshop, Minerva and Snape groaned out simultaneously.

“We’re too late,” Minerva lamented. “Lockhart’s already started his autograph session.”

“So that’s why Dumbledore wanted you to buy books today? You’re supposed to meet Gilderoy Lockhart?”

“One of my potions books is slowly falling apart,” Snape said uncomfortably.

Liz snickered. “That’s because you’re hitting people with it,” she told him wisely.

He ignored her. “I could use a new one. Wish me luck.”

“So bad?” Liz asked incredulously.

Minerva shook her head. “Worse.”

“Take Minerva and we-don’t-talk-about-them and sum up how many nerves they cost you, then you’ve got about half the number of times that Lockhart makes you want to throw him out,” Snape claimed, then he went into the shop.

This didn’t tell Liz so much – ‘we-don’t-talk-about-them’ had called themselves the Marauders in school, classmates of Snape, but she didn’t know them, not even their names: One was dead, one disappeared, one in Azkaban and one living in a muggle town. That was all Minerva would tell her when she asked about them, the others didn’t talk about them at all.

Liz examined the portrait on ‘Magical Me’ in the shop window thoughtfully. “That’s our new Defence teacher?” she asked sceptically when Snape came out of the shop again.

“I’m afraid so,” he said, shaking up Minerva, who was still waiting for the caffeine to enter her blood circle. “We’ll see how much you learn from him.”

“I had never thought I’d say that, but… that guy’s even uglier than Voldemort himself. Only seems more unnerving than the Dark Lord.”

The teachers nodded in unison.

“You have such a wise daughter, Min.”

“Yeah… I’m wondering myself.”

Liz stood next to Minerva and pulled her mum’s arm around her shoulder. “Sounds like a fight,” she commented, pointing her head at the shop window and looking at Snape. “You don’t happen to know who…?”

“When I went out, it looked like Malfoy and Weasley were about to tolchock each other.”

“Are we talking about the parents or the kids?”

“Fathers, I think.”

Minerva yawned again and stretched her arms – it looked like the caffeine was starting to take effect. “At least we don’t have to arbitrate and take house points.”

They ambled on to a shop for potions ingredients. It didn’t take long until the Malfoys passed, and Minerva snickered when she saw Mr Malfoy’s bruised eye. Liz could have sworn he had got the corner of a book in his face – the same thing had happened to her several times in a rather inglorious way.

“What’s so funny, McGonagall?”

Draco and Liz decided to carefully take a back seat while their parents stared at each other – Mr Malfoy angrily, Minerva nonchalantly.

“Nothing,” she said, not bothering to hide her smile. “Just having a good day.”

“Good day?” he snarled at her. “What a likely story.” Without a further word, he swept off. Draco followed him with a shrug.

When they had bought the potions ingredients Liz and Snape needed, several new cauldrons for brewing (shrunk to fit in a pocket), magical hair conditioner for Minerva to use and for Snape to wonder about, a few useful bits and pieces and, at last, Liz’s shoes, Minerva apparated all three of them to Hogsmeade.

“Have you noticed before that it’s always you who apparates everyone back and forth?” Snape asked when they stood in front of the Hogshead. “Actually, you don’t need to side-by-side-apparate people who can do it themselves and know where to go.”

Minerva shrugged her shoulders. “Parental habit, I guess. Come on, Lizzie, let’s get you back to France.”

In the evening, Liz found herself more than satisfied with how the day had been. Miri had done her shoe shop- and jeweller-marathon while Liz had been away, she and her ex were really nothing than good friends, and Liz had survived Knockturn Alley once again. And the best of all: It had been a Harry-free day.


	4. Flying to Hogwarts

It felt like the holidays would never end. The more surprised Liz reacted when her sister one evening mentioned that tomorrow would be their last day in France – the day after, they would either take the train through Europe, fly over the sea to Great Britain and take another train to London, or fly the whole way to London on their broomsticks to avoid questions from muggles. Once at London, they would most likely spend a night at the Leaky Cauldron and catch the train to Hogwarts the next morning.

They chose the flying alternative, surrounded by a charm that made them invisible to muggles but not to wizards, and Liz could only hope she didn’t look all too pitiable next to her sister: While Miri wore elegant leather gloves and used an unbelievably stylish square cloth to cover her hair, the younger sister only had frozen-stiff fingers and the old, worn-out Gryffindor scarf wrapped around her head.

Standing on the platform at King’s Cross, Liz found it not a whit quieter than the years before. Sure, she had expected excited ‘There’s Harry Potter!’ calls from new pupils, but as far as she could see, Harry hadn’t arrived yet. So, everything was as usual.

On the train, she got asked about Harry and Ron a few times, but she didn’t think it strange that they hadn’t met yet – the Hogwarts Express brought all of the scholars to school, after all, and they weren’t few.

She only started to worry when the sorting ceremony had begun. After their arrival at Hogwarts, she had immediately got changed into a black dress and white apron. As Professor Dumbledore had told her in a letter, he wanted her to make a good impression on the new Defence teacher. Maybe he wanted to compensate for Liz’s missing books? Anyway, she could see neither Ron nor Harry at the Gryffindor table. Then she realised that Snape’s chair at the staff table was unoccupied. Which was more than a little strange, because Ron surely wanted to watch his sister’s sorting and Snape couldn’t possibly make up an excuse for missing the sorting of the first years.

From an alcove, Liz watched the sorting, the introduction of “Gilderoy Lockhart, who will be teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts this year” – not that he had needed to be introduced – and waited until the food appeared to enter the Great Hall and start serving. Precisely, she only carried around beverages and reached bowls of food from one house table to the other, but apparently this counted as serving. Ginny was sorted into Gryffindor – Ron would be pleased when he arrived. _If_ he arrived. When everyone had started to eat, Snape came to the Great Hall, said something to Minerva and left with her. A few minutes later he returned, seemingly in an unusually good mood, and fetched the headmaster. It promised to be an evening without excessive drinking, Liz thought. But when they got back to the table after a while, Snape’s mood had drastically changed for the worse again. Minerva followed a few minutes later.

“Whisky,” she said shortly when Liz curiously approached her, and Snape nodded in agreement.

Liz looked at them like they were about to make a decision they could only regret. Actually, she was pretty sure they would regret it already tonight. “We don’t store whisky in the kitchen.”

Minerva sighed. “In my whisky closet – you know the bottle in the bottom right corner, the one at the back of the closet.”

Liz’s eyes widened until they had the diameter of said bottle. “You mean…”

“The one I wanted to open last summer, but I didn’t.”

Liz was speechless. She opened her mouth like she wanted to talk back, looked at her mum, looked at Snape… and closed her mouth again because she had no idea what to say.

“Do I have to go and get it myself?” Minerva’s impatient demand brought her back to earth. Mumbling an excuse, Liz hurried out of the Great Hall and towards the office. _The bottle in the bottom right corner._ The bottle that had been too good for the Young Teachers Society’s sitting-around-and-enjoying-the-legendary-sunset last summer.

Wherever Harry and Ron had been, they had arrived in the meantime. And Liz didn’t know what kind of an offence they had committed, but it must be foolish and awesome in equal measure. _Very_ foolish and awesome.

* * *

“Drove a car into the Whomping Willow,” Minerva slurred when she eventually lay in bed that evening.

“Ford Anglia,” Miri threw in from the bathroom. She didn’t even have a driving license but nevertheless claimed to be an expert about cars.

“A _flying_ Ford Anglia.” Minerva set her alarm for the next morning. “And I thought it had been foolish when you two flew in from London on the old Silver Arrow in Miri’s sixth year.”

“Illegal, yes,” said Liz, who was sitting on the girls’ bed. “But not foolish. I didn’t even fall off the broomstick, that was fucking professional! I mean… it was quite okay. That’s what I meant.”

Minerva gave her a derogatory look. “From a six-year-old, I’d expect that she can hold herself on a broomstick. What are you doing here anyway? You’re supposed to sleep at your dormitory, as far as I recall.”

“You know _exactly_ that I don’t sleep well on my own.”

Miri sat on the bed next to her sister. “And that’s perfectly okay as long as I’m here. You won’t send her to the dormitory in her nightgown, will you? And she doesn’t know the password!”

“ _Wattlebird_ , if that’s the problem.”

“Come on, you can’t do that!”

Minerva sighed. “Fine. But stop looking at me like that,” she grumbled.

“Why?”

“You look ridiculous, that’s why.”


	5. Gilderoy Lockhart

The school year started in a way that no sensible person could wish for. Mrs Weasley sent Ron a howler that had nearly scared Liz to death at breakfast; unlike the jar of pumpkin juice she had carried, she escaped with her life. Juice and broken glass spread everywhere on the floor, and unfortunately over a few people’s shoes and cloaks, too. Liz didn’t find her wand immediately to repair the jar, and Professor Kettleburn, who was having a particularly bad day, thought it his duty to shout at her.

“Why are _you_ allowed to do Potions? You can’t even carry a jar! No, don’t tell me you don’t have your wand with you! Can’t you do _anything_ right?!”

It went on like this until Professor Flitwick came to her aid, fixed the jar and dried the stain. Well, at least they didn’t attract attention because everyone was listening to Ron’s howler.

In Herbology, they went to greenhouse three. Everyone was delighted because the more dangerous plants were kept there, but Liz only expected to get killed by the great _Venemosa Tentacula_ – it had been for a reason that Professor Sprout had always insisted to keep her hand on Liz’s shoulder when she had taken her to the greenhouses earlier. Harry was late because Lockhart wanted to talk to him and for some reason thought he could not wait until lunch: Seemingly, telling Professor Sprout how to handle a Whomping Willow didn’t meet his daily target of unnerving.

Hermione got twenty points for having learnt the textbook by heart, but despite Liz’s fears no one died, and no one fainted due to the mandrakes, no one got bitten by the _Venemosa Tentacula_ and Lockhart didn’t dare disturb the lesson. Not that she hadn’t begrudged him a few hours of unconsciousness.

The next lesson, Transfiguration, was a nightmare. Liz hadn’t forgotten what she had learnt last year, but she had not been allowed to practise during the summer holidays because she was underage, and theory didn’t bring her so far. Talking about transfigurations in French was a completely useless skill when it came to practical exercises, and her practical skills had already been inadequate when she had surprisingly passed last year’s exam. Though having caught a seat in the last row again, she could not fool Minerva. Her mum knew exactly that she wasn’t allowed to do magic beyond school, but somehow, she expected Liz’s skills to have improved since last year. Which they hadn’t.

It was Ron Weasley with his broken wand who finally saved her: Liz’s transfigurations may have been dreadful, but she could proudly report that she didn’t produce smoke and her beetles didn’t die but turn into something that could possibly be recognised as coat buttons. Sure, nobody would sew them onto their clothes as long as they could afford proper buttons, but at a pinch you could have used them.

During lunch, a first year named Colin Creevey got on her nerves with questions like: ‘For how long have you been working here?’ and ‘Can you do magic, too? I’m asking because you don’t necessarily need it for serving’ and ‘I didn’t realise the staff was allowed to sit with the students. Don’t you have a seat at the teachers’ table?’. Liz knew that, when Miri had been her age, small children had asked whether Liz was her daughter, but still she found it hard to believe that Colin really took her to be a member of the staff. Yes, she had been wearing an apron yesterday, and yes, Professor Kettleburn had treated her like a cleaning rag in the morning, but right now she had just entered the Great Hall together with her classmates, she was much smaller than most of the staff, had her school bag at her feet and – hell, she was wearing a school uniform!

What kind of a server would wear a school uniform and mingle with the scholars to camouflage? Her mood slightly improved when Colin did a runner to annoy Harry, nasty comments from Draco and well-meant advice from Lockhart included. Just when Liz started to enjoy her break, however, it was already over and she had to make haste for the first lesson of Defence Against The Dark Arts.

Defence was one of her favourite subjects next to Charms and Potions – it was possible that she liked it even better than Potions, because being an average scholar at the subject gave her the potential to improve over the years. With Lockhart being her teacher… well, it still gave her the chance to learn more than he could teach her.

Like Harry, Liz went straight to the last row when they arrived at Lockhart’s classroom. Unlike him, she didn’t try to hide behind her books – not only because she didn’t have any – but chose the desk that Lockhart would probably have the best view on. Instead of taking quill and parchment out, she slid her chair as far back as possible, crossed her arms and put her feet onto the desk like Sirius Black on one of Miri’s muggle photos that Liz was forbidden to look at. When Lockhart started talking, Liz switched her sense of hearing off and the tune of _Smooth Criminal_ on. Either he would give a speech, covering the topics of himself, himself and himself, or he would skip that part and forthright go to the part where he introduced himself for fifteen minutes straight. In both cases, his waffling was not worth to be listened to.

Surprisingly, Lockhart didn’t use the full fifteen minutes. Liz could not say whether he had cut out the speech or the introduction or both; she didn’t even bother to switch her ears back on when they got a questionnaire over three pages. The first requested answers were Lockhart’s favourite colour, secret wish and greatest achievement until now – Liz had answered _colour of his eyes, own hair conditioner_ and _not getting killed by_ _pretty much everyone with half a brain_ from what the teachers were trash-talking about, but she decided to only answer technical questions. When she got to question No. 54 – Lockhart’s birthday and his ideal present (Ogden’s Old Firewhisky; show-off brand but no quality) – her quill had not touched the parchment a single time.

Liz raised her hand. “Sir?” Not waiting until he beckoned her to put her question, she asked: “Excuse me – but didn’t Professor Dumbledore tell you what your job at Hogwarts would be?”

“Pardon?”

“I might be wrong, but – as I see it, there is no single Defence question in the whole test,” she explained. “Are you aware that this is not a Gilderoy-Lockhart-fanclub but a second year Defence Against The Dark Arts class?”

“I don’t see the problem. All the questions focus on the books you needed to read for my class, Miss…”

“North. None of those books is to be taken as adequate teaching material,” Liz insisted. “Do you want to test our knowledge about the Dark Arts, or is it your intention to find out who of us fell for you after the first few pages? In this case, I shall have a serious talk with our headmaster about why he employs a paedophile.”

The class was silent after that lecture. Liz considered whether she should play the ‘Anyone could do better than you’ card, but then decided to save it for later. She had expected to get a hundred house points taken, detentions for a month and be thrown out of the classroom for her impertinent statement. Lockhart, however, was already smiling again. _Pitifully_ smiling, as Liz noticed. _Disgusting._

“Oh, you sure haven’t read my travel reports, not to mention my autobiography?” He beamed at her in a way that made her immediately want to hear Slughorn’s ‘talk’ instead. And Snape’s and Minerva’s talks right afterwards. Anything but this face. “I just noticed you don’t have any books with you. Let me guess, your family can’t afford school supplies? My books are really not that expensive, but in this case, I’ll send you –”

“My family can afford books, thank you very much,” Liz interrupted him. Which wasn’t wholly true, Minerva had had to decide between books, shoes and whisky. And, looking at Lockhart’s books and her whisky closet, made the only logical decision. “Unfortunately, my parents hold the view that everyone with half a brain should keep their hands off made-up adventure stories, and they forbade me to read your travelogues. Spoils the character, they use to say.”

“Well, that sounds like a harmless misconception. I shall write your mum a letter and explain the matter to her. What is her name?”

Liz straightened her back. “Her name is Minerva McGonagall.”

“McGonagall? Oh, you’re named after your father.”

Liz had to suppress a snort; a few people snickered. Lockhart didn’t notice.

“Yes, Sir.” Yes, she _was_ named after her father. Michael North. Who had died too early to know about Lockhart’s stellar ascent. Who was responsible for Liz’s mere existence, but nothing more. And who would never know that Minerva was Liz’s mum. But yes, if that was Lockhart’s biggest problem, Liz was named after her father.

The rest of the lesson was accompanied by the tune of _Smooth Criminal_ , but Liz had decided to listen and internally laugh about whatever funny incidents might happen. Hermione behaved like a manic fangirl and got ten points for Gryffindor, Dean and Seamus from the first row seconded Liz and suppressed their laughter as Lockhart told them the answers to all 54 questions, then the so-called ‘professor’ let a bunch of Cornwall pixies out of their cage and made a fool of himself while he combined a non-existent spell with a paramountly incompetent movement of his wand.

“Question No. 55,” Liz said, getting up and grabbing her bag. “What would you do if Gilderoy Lockhart embarrassed himself because he can’t handle a few pixies? Answer: Be smart and let someone else deal with them.” Then she casually walked out and closed the door behind her, not minding the pixies, who were about to desolate the classroom. Nobody tried to stop her. Seconds later, the bell rang, and the rest of the class followed her, away from Lockhart and his weak attempts at teaching.

* * *

“Did you know that Lockhart claims he had been beleaguered by a werewolf in a phone box?” Aurora asked, turning a page of ‘Wanderings with Werewolves’.

Minerva, who was sitting next to her at the table in the staff room, snorted contemptuously. “So what? I know a guy who’s literally got fucked by a werewolf in a phone box. Did I write a book about it? No.”

Severus took a seat by Aurora’s other side and leant forward to look at Minerva. “Remus and you and a telephone booth? I don’t know what’s more unlikely, the pairing or the location.”

“Hey! I didn’t say _anything_ like that!”

“Then how many werewolves do you know – and how many hotels carry the name _Phone Box_?”

“Three, I don’t know, and I was talking about one of Miri’s ex-lovers.”

He slowly shook his head. “Minerva, you disappoint me.”

“Aurora’s reading ‘Wanderings with Werewolves’, but _I’m_ the disappointment?”

“Thinking about it… you’re both disappointing,” Severus joked and pretended to get up from the table.

Aurora blushed. “I said I wasn’t interested in his books, so he gave me all of them for free, and I thought…”

“You thought, when I already have those books, let’s have a look at the stories,” Severus sighed. “Understandable.”

“Aww, you’re so naive,” it came from Minerva. “You shouldn’t have taken them in the first place.”

“But I…”

“She doesn’t mean it as an offence,” Severus assured Aurora. “But you have to admit it was kind of… inapt not to be explicit about what you think of his books on the first occasion. If Lockhart thinks you’re interested, your life will get much harder from that point on.”

Just when Aurora wanted to close ‘Wanderings with Werewolves’, Lockhart entered the staff room. Quickly, Severus laid his arm across the book to keep it from closing. “Don’t let him see you read his books!”

“Hello everyone!” Lockhart beamed.

Minerva turned to him reluctantly. “What do you want?”

“Can anyone tell me how I get to the post office? I’ve got a letter for one Minerva McGonagall – enchanting name – who is the mum of Miss…”

“Miss McGonagall, maybe?” Severus murmured.

“No, it was a different name… I don’t remember it, but she said she was named after her father…”

“We’ve got an owlery here at Hogwarts,” Minerva said politely. “I wonder why Professor Dumbledore didn’t show you the way.” Then she gave him a confusingly detailed description of the way to the owlery, taking several minutes and extremely challenging Severus’s and Aurora’s self-discipline.

A few minutes after Lockhart had left for the owlery, an owl landed on the outer windowsill of a staff room window. Aurora let it in. “Interesting,” she said, removing the string from the owl’s leg and taking the letter. “From _Gilderoy Lockhart, winner of the Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award five times in a row_ , to _Mrs Minerva McGonagall_. Well, we didn’t expect that.”

Severus leant back in his chair. “You must admit that there are probably hundreds of Minervas in the McGonagall clan, and at least fifty of them have a daughter at Hogwarts whose last name is not McGonagall.”

Aurora handed the letter over to Minerva. “No, seriously – if I was a member of the Order of Merlin, no matter what class, I’d mention that and not my award-winning smile.”

“He’s only mentioning it because he thinks it’ll make my hormones take over and let me buy his books for my daughter,” Minerva muttered, tearing the envelope to pieces with her fingernails and taking the letter out. “What do you think why he’s explicitly asking for Liz’s mum?”

* * *

Ten minutes, one politely formulated letter and approximately four to five hundred absurd prophecies by Severus and Aurora later, Minerva nervously knocked at the door of Lockhart’s office. It almost felt like she was afraid of the conversation that would follow – not because he was teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts, though. Mostly because she felt the next few minutes would completely take it out of her, and this was only day one. How was she supposed to work with this man for a whole year? And even worse, how was she supposed to get her way without giving Lockhart a reason to resign from teaching on the spot? She had met him during her internship in 1977, but she didn’t know how much harmony between the colleagues he claimed to need – there were people who would quit their job because someone refused to join their birthday party, and others who couldn't care less about harmony. What would Albus say if…

Her train of thoughts was interrupted by Lockhart, who looked a little too surprised for her taste when he opened the door. “Miss McGonagall,” he said. “How can I help you?”

Minerva forced herself to smile. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course, how impolite of me…” He stepped back to let her in and closed the door behind her.

“You’ll be pleased to learn,” Minerva said, leaning against the desk, “that I’m no longer the trainee Miss McGonagall but the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, and that the staff uses to call each other by first names. Further, in the head of a letter, we don’t list our awards but titles like _Grand Sorcerer_ or a membership in the Order of Merlin.”

Lockhart beamed at her. “It’s really kind of you to give me special advice! You didn’t have to come to my office, though, you could easily have told me at the staff room – I’m not so thin-skinned about that.”

“You’re not touchy?” Minerva reassured herself. “Then I guess you’re tolerant about who reads or doesn’t read your books, too?”

“Oh, dearest Minerva, of course I’m tolerant – if someone does not want advice, you can’t help them. Although it would be better if they read my books as a matter of fact!” His wink made her wish for a wedding ring, even though it probably would not stop him.

As inconspicuously as possible, Minerva let her hands sink into the pockets of her robes. “So, you’re okay with my daughter using her own teaching resources?”

“Your…” It took Lockhart a few seconds to realise what she was talking about.

“My daughter, yes. My daughter who is named after her father and who I do not want to read your alleged travelogues. _Are_ you okay with it?”

“ _You_ are that Minerva McGonagall who I sent the letter to? Why didn’t you tell me when I asked you about the post office?”

“I was curious how your letter would be written. We can take the issue to the headmaster, if you want…”

“That won’t be necessary – have you ever read my best-selling travelling report ‘Wanderings with Werewolves’? I’m sure you would like it. By sheer chance, I happen to have to have a copy of it here in my office – signed, of course…”

“ _By sheer chance,_ ” Minerva said sharply, “I happen to know more about werewolves than all of your readers together. You don’t have to chase them. _They disappear punctually with moonset._ If any, I’m the one who should write books here. Have a nice day, _Professor!_ ” Without further ado, she turned on her heel and left the office.

Lockhart had not announced his resignation – so far so good. He hadn’t accepted her attitude either, but that didn’t matter at the moment. What did matter was the possibility that Lockhart thought Minerva was a werewolf. Which meant she would have to bait him outside during the next full moon and prove that she wasn’t…

Oh well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how it reads, but I had so much fun writing this chapter!  
> Let me know what you think in the comments.


	6. Moonlight

The way back to the staff room was fine, but when Minerva entered the room and saw her colleagues’ faces full of expectation, she was overwhelmed with a sense of guilt. She sat down and took off her glasses. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” 

Aurora and Severus exchanged a look. 

“You knocked him off.” 

Minerva covered her face with her hands. “No.” 

“He resigned.” 

“No.” 

“Liz doesn’t have to read his books if Aurora goes on a date with Lockhart?” 

An alarmed expression flashed over Aurora’s face. “Minerva?!” 

“No.” Minerva put her glasses back on. “But it is possible that he thinks I’m a werewolf.” 

Both Aurora and Severus let out an annoyed sigh. 

“If that’s all…” 

“We already thought it was something serious.” 

Aurora got up from her chair and took a few steps towards the middle of the room. “Listen up, everyone! Minerva messed things up with Lockhart already, now he knows she’s a werewolf and we’ve got to make him believe she’s fully human! Next full moon is on… when?” 

“12th of September.” 

“You’ve heard it, on 12th of September! That’s next week’s Saturday – anyone fancy to help us with our crazy plan? No one? Okay.” She sat back down while Minerva and Severus gazed at her incredulous. “Looks like they don’t take me seriously, so it’s just the three of us.” 

There was a moment of silence until Severus cleared his throat and asked: “May I?” He put his hand onto Aurora’s forehead as though he wanted to make sure she wasn’t ill. “Strange,” he murmured. “You look… completely normal.” 

“Um, yes? What’s so strange about that?” 

“If you’re really physically and mentally healthy, then why do you act like you were severely intoxicated?” Minerva wondered. “That’s… uncharacteristic.” 

“What? No, it’s not! I’m just relieved I don’t have to go out with Lockhart.” 

The looks exchanged by Minerva and Severus could not have been more meaningful. 

“Well, okay, actually I did try a potion that’s supposed to increase my self-confidence.” 

“Why…?” 

“That’s completely irrelevant now! But if you can’t take me seriously that way, I’ll better leave it for the future. Anyway, do we have a plan for Saturday already or do we have to think of one?” 

They had to think of one. And this turned out to be a more difficult task than they had expected – Minerva and Severus ended up thinking too much about the Wolfsbane/No Wolfsbane and location question, and Aurora’s potion increased her self-confidence but not her creativity. After uncounted suggestions containing the Shrieking Shack, the Forbidden Forest or Hogsmeade in some way, which would not only have been unrealistic but – in cases of the Shrieking Shack and the Forbidden Forest – downright dangerous, Severus finally had an epiphany. 

“What about some kind of moonlight date?” he suggested. “You don’t want to know how many snogging couples I already had to drag from moonlit alcoves in the middle of the night.” 

“Sounds good,” Minerva confirmed. “Only whom shall I date?” 

“Min…” Severus groaned. “Are you really telling me that your latest affair is already over again?” 

Minerva shrugged. “It was good while it lasted.” 

“How long was that, four weeks?” 

“An affair with someone who didn’t listen when I told him I had kids, and who didn’t begrudge me ten minutes to care for my daughter’s bleeding feet, which, by the way, looked like straight out of ‘Cinderella’?” She sent him a pitiful frown. “You didn’t really expect that to last, did you?” 

“No problem, we can worry about that later,” Aurora said cheerfully. She went over to the plan hanging on the wall that indicated whose turn it was to patrol the corridors at night and altered it, so that Lockhart’s first night shift would be on 12th of September. She changed Lockhart’s earlier shifts with some of her own that were scheduled for somewhen later in the year, so it was halfway fair but still fit their plan. 

“Okay,” she said when she was sitting at the table again, “our plan looks like this: One of us takes the early shift until 11.30, then fetches Lockhart for the next shift – oh, come on, we can also let him do the next two shifts, just this one time – and shows him where he has to go, what’s the best route to cover everything, and makes it look like the most important place was the location where Minerva is having her moonlight date. Where would that be?” 

“Astronomy Tower, if you ask me,” Severus stated. 

Minerva nodded in agreement. “Especially as it’s rather unlikely for students to get there. And it’s definitely moonlit.” 

“What would make it look quite natural, would be you being the one who she’s dating.” Severus let his gaze wander through the room until it came to rest on Aurora. 

Minerva kicked him under the table. She knew that Severus knew that they both didn’t really want to make Aurora a part of rumours on purpose, and further she shouldn’t be forced to anything. “Don’t you think it’s more credible if an Astronomy teacher insists on controlling the Astronomy Tower? Besides, if I’m dating a man, we only have to sit there and everyone will assume it’s a date. With a woman, we’d have to at least kiss to make it obvious enough for a rumour. _At least._ ” 

“And who is going to be that man?” 

Aurora snickered. “Always the one who asks,” she joked. “Well… Dumbledore won’t do it because he’s the headmaster. Flitwick told me once that he had better things to do than hanging around on the Astronomy Tower at night, so he won’t do it either. Hagrid – no. Just no. When Hagrid’s standing on the tower, Lockhart won’t see it’s actually supposed to be moonlit. Professor Kettleburn could do it…” 

“Yeah, sure. Do you want to ask him or shall I?” 

“Okay, I admit, it was a dumb idea. You could still ask Tom from the Leaky Cauldron, Florean Fortescue and Aberforth Dumbledore, but that’s really all I can deliver.” 

Minerva sighed. “Tom and Mr Fortescue don’t really know me, so I don’t think they’ll come over for such a flimsy reason. Aberforth, on the other hand, would be a real option… if he hadn’t already told me he had to work that night.” 

Sheepishly, the two women looked at Severus. 

“Fine,” he eventually grumbled. “I’ll do it. Oh Merlin, why is it always me.” 

“Fantastic,” Aurora beamed. “Like a fairy tale. Severus Married-to-my-potions meets Minerva My-accent-is-damn-hot-and-I-know-it on the Astronomy Tower around midnight.” 

“You’re one to bitch about nicknames, Aurora All-night-long!” 

“And by the way, it’s still Minerva I-can-do-it-better.” 

* * *

Minerva tried to talk as little as possible with Lockhart for the next few days, and she managed to keep her countenance even when he demanded to take Harry’s detention on Saturday, one week before the full moon. Minerva felt sorry for the boy, but misuse of muggle artefacts had to be punished – just like crashing into the Whomping Willow, even if the worst thing about this had been Lockhart’s advice while Pomona had bandaged the tree. In the end, she could be glad there would be a reliably Lockhart-free evening in the staff room. 

The next Saturday, Aurora was more upset than Minerva and Severus together. At half past eight in the evening, she called both of them into her office to talk their plan through before she started her evening shift. 

“Lockhart’s shift starts at 11.30,” she said nervously, while Severus was fidgeting with his sleeve and Minerva stifled a yawn. “I’ll go to his office and fetch him, then I pretend to show him around the castle –” 

“You _do_ show him the castle, to be honest.” 

“Yes, okay, and I figure it’ll be something between half past eleven and midnight when we come to the Astronomy Tower, so you better go up there around 11.20 to make sure you don’t meet him before –” 

“We _know_ how to act out a date, Aurora.” 

“I would hope so! Make it look spontaneous, like you decided out of the blue to go up there, so… don’t change your clothes, don’t put cloaks on… Minerva, you could change your hair, though. Make it look more casual.” 

Severus threw a glance at his watch. “While we’re at being overly correct – your shift started ten minutes ago.” 

Minerva snickered, while Aurora gave him an annoyed look. “No one ever starts the early shift before nine!” 

“I also thought no one would plan out a date like you just did, so, why not?” 

Aurora stuck her tongue at them and swept out of the room, but she could not resist growing a bunch of flowers from her wand and laying them onto her desk before. 

Severus checked his watch again. “8.42 pm. Only twelve minutes late instead of the usual thirty. It’s so good I’m here…” 

Minerva rolled her eyes. “Because you’re always punctual for your shifts.” 

“Are you completely out of your mind now? Not only that I’m always punctual, I’m also doing the fourth shift every day!” 

“Severus… there is no fourth shift. There’s no point in controlling the corridors past 5.30 in the morning because everyone’s waking up by that time.” 

“Waking up and staying in their rooms until breakfast,” he insisted. “Anything could happen, and you wouldn’t even _notice_ it because you were sitting in your bedroom and dusting off your collection of hair clasps!” 

Minerva sighed. “Sure this _anything_ has nothing to do with Liz being up by that time? No, forget it.” She grabbed the flowers on Aurora’s desk. “I’ll go get some water for those – and _change my hair to make it look casual…_ ” 

“… which you do every evening around nine, as I recall…” 

She looked at him in bewilderment. “Yes – why do you keep stuff like this in your mind?” 

* * *

The first thing Minerva noticed when she climbed up the stairs to Astronomy Tower was the cold. She immediately regretted her decision to not put on an extra sweater beneath her robes, and Severus, who was already waiting for her, seemed to be in a similar situation. 

“Did you seriously bring those flowers?” 

“As you can see. Look… I don’t think it’s necessary, but it won’t do any harm either.” 

She dropped the limp bouquet carelessly and leant against a balustrade next to him. They stood with some distance, arms folded to keep themselves warm, not knowing where to look for a few awkward minutes, until Minerva released her arms and let one hand dangle between her and Severus. “May I…?” 

“I assume you mean my hand?” He unfolded his arms, too. 

“Mmh.” As their fingers entangled, Minerva realised with surprise that his hand was much warmer than hers. 

“Have you ever noticed that ‘May I’ means nothing but ‘I want something and it’s too awkward to go into detail’?” Severus suddenly asked. 

“Do you want me to stop saying it?” They must have looked like the cover of some romance novel, standing on a moonlit tower and holding hands, the other hand in their pockets and staring into nowhere. 

Minerva didn’t get an answer, instead Severus asked: “Would you mind if I saved you from freezing?”, already stepping closer towards her. 

“Not at all,” she murmured as he embraced her firmly. Merlin, how was it possible that his robes were so much warmer than her own? Had he used some kind of heat potion in the end? Did such potions even exist? 

“I heard you like to read romance novels?” she heard Severus ask. Why the heck was he asking so much tonight? 

“Sometimes, yes…” 

“What was the most romantic action on a rooftop that you read about?” 

Even though it probably wasn’t the most appropriate reaction, Minerva snickered. This conversation was just too absurd to be taken seriously. “I think it was that scene where music from somewhere in the house could be heard on the roof, and they were waltzing on a roof-terrace.”

“Great,” he whispered. “Dancing shouldn’t be that difficult. Only where do we get the music from?” Somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, a wolf was howling – Liz. 

“Forget the music! It’s much cheesier without it anyway.” 

“Honestly, for whom are we doing this – Lockhart or Aurora?” 

“Aurora. Definitely.” 

When Lockhart and Aurora entered the Astronomy Tower, Minerva and Severus quickly changed from _dancing-and-really-nothing-but-dancing_ to _officially-dancing-but-actually-more-like-stumbling-around,_ then they stopped moving completely. Minerva didn’t miss how Severus’s gaze flickered from her eyes to her lips, but remembering their mistletoe experience he only raised a hand to caress her cheek. 

“Feel free to kiss me if you want,” she whispered, unable to hide her grin. “My skills have improved since 1975, you know.” 

“Believe me, it’s not your skills I’m worrying about.” 

Another remark that didn’t make any sense. He probably didn’t know himself what that was supposed to mean. Or it was a weak allusion to herpes. Loudly, she said: “We should go back in. It’s getting cold out here.” 

As soon as she said ‘back in’, she could make out a shadow that hurried back into the castle. “Cool,” Minerva said, reluctantly drawing away from Severus, who was just as reluctant to let her go. “Ladies and gentlemen, our show has ended. I’m going to leave these flowers where they are and go to bed as soon as possible.” 

As she walked back to her office, Severus accompanied her – she didn’t ask why, but she assumed he wanted to make sure it still looked like a date in case they would meet Lockhart on their way back. When they reached her office and Minerva searched for the key in her pockets, Severus made no move to go on to the dungeons. Having found the key, Minerva raised her eyebrows at him. “What’s up?” 

“Min – I don’t know how to put it –” 

“I’m warning you – if you say ‘May I?’, I’ll feel impelled to laugh at you.” 

He hardly smiled. “That would make things much easier.” 

Minerva frowned. “For the record,” she said carefully. “We did this for Aurora, for Liz, and if you want for Dumbledore, but no one else. Right?” 

“Right,” he nodded. “But somehow I… got the feeling it… could have gone on. Standing on the tower, I mean. With you.” 

Minerva played with her key nervously. God, she was behaving like a teenager. As if she couldn't handle a few complicated feelings. No, worse – as a teenager she had polished her Prefect badge and taken house points from Slytherin without batting an eyelid. “Me too,” she admitted. “But… I don’t really feel like discussing strange feelings right now. Besides, we can go to the Astronomy Tower whenever we want, you just have to ask.” Okay, that sounded like she hadn’t noticed what he was talking about at all. It was probably best to end the conversation before she made a complete fool of herself. She straightened herself and finally unlocked the door. “I say we forget about it and go to sleep.” 

Severus looked like he wanted to contradict but ended up wishing her a good night and leaving.

“Good night, Severus,” Minerva said, when he turned away from her. And then added, so quietly that he might not have heard it: “Forgive me… but I can’t discuss this on a moon night.”


	7. The Heir of Slytherin

For some reason, Lockhart had decided to just ignore Liz and her non-existent books. She spent his lessons studying on her own, Defence as well as other subjects, and when she did her homework, she scribbled something onto the parchment that was only remotely related to the actual topic, Lockhart’s alleged adventures. Ignoring and being ignored was something that Liz could handle; it didn’t request much emotional or social experience, and best of all, it fit surprisingly well with her job as a server.

From the middle of October on, Liz got more and more careful every day. Minerva used to be in a dreadful mood around October and November, that reached its peak reliably on Halloween. No one could take it amiss, the Potters had died on that day, after all, but everyone’s understanding didn’t help in the slightest. For Liz, the last day of October was downright dangerous, even though she knew the full repertoire of people, locations and events she was not to mention. Halloween, however, made Minerva a hundred times touchier than she used to be: One year, Liz had asked her: “Are you serious about this?” and got slapped – _hard._ Another year, she had reported a conversation she had had at school with someone who had been to a pottery course, and been hit by a curse that made her throw up snails (and clean everything at least twice because of their slime). As a small child, she had pointed at a flower illustration in a book and asked her sister how it was called – it had been a lily. This day had been a black day for both sisters… although they were wise enough not to use the word ‘black’ with Minerva present. Last year, Liz had been extra careful, but Minerva had thrown a vase after her when she had innocently scribbled a snitch onto her forearm with a muggle pen.

_ TRY TO AVOID: _

_Serious/seriously_

_Black – don’t even wear black, if possible_

_Dogs and stars_

_Feet on the table_

_Anything wolfish – no Wolfsbane, no lunar cycle, no post-moon-insomnia, best don’t exist at all_

_The infirmary_

_Fur_

_Words like Latin ‘res’ or ‘loop’_

_Flowers OF ANY KIND, just to be safe_

_Red hair, green eyes_

_Glasses and scars_

_Quidditch – broomsticks, brooms for cleaning, snitches, anything_

_School in general, but most important Dark Arts_

_Anything about love, life or death_

_Mentioning someone else’s parents_

_Saying ‘mum’ by mistake – normally forgivable, deathly on Halloween_

_Words like ‘pottery’_

_Gryffindor, Slytherin, Purebloods_

_Tricks of any kind – don’t play, don’t talk about, don’t think about if you want to live_

_House points_

_Curses and jinxes of any kind – use but don’t talk about_

_PARSEL_

_Scribbling on forearms_

_Words like ‘Marauders’ or ‘mischief’_

_Comments about anyone’s age_

_Jokes of any kind_

_Looking happy in the least_

_Being the least annoyed about minor issues → LOCKHART!_

_Pumpkins, because they’re disgusting_

_ TRY TO DO: _

_ Speak French  with your sister , too fast for  Min to understand  _

_Keep out of her way_

_Leave the country if you can_

Reading through her finished list once again, Liz found that she had no choice but stick to her sister and speak French for 24 hours. Leaving the country would not be an option for them, because Miri loved Halloween at Hogwarts and Professor Dumbledore had allowed that Mr Kettleburn visited the school to celebrate with them. Hopefully he knew French.

* * *

The Halloween party was wonderful. Hagrid’s pumpkins looked great, and fortunately they had not been used for the food – Liz was always sceptical when it came to giant vegetables; all too often they turned out watery. Generally, there was much food without pumpkins for all the people who didn’t like the taste, but nevertheless the pumpkin soup smelled so good that even Liz had to try it.  Mr Kettleburn did indeed know French, and although he didn’t speak as fluently as the North sisters, they could talk about everything without having to switch to English.

“Look,” Miri had said when they had entered the Great Hall, pointing at the bats that were flying or sleeping everywhere. “Snape’s gang.” And Snape, who had been standing right behind her, had been polite enough not to ask.

When the feast had ended, Liz and Miri were the first to go upstairs – and the first to see Mrs Norris, dangling from a  torch holder, stiff as a statue. The first to read ‘THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.  ENEMIES OF THE HEIR… BEWARE’. And certainly the only ones to wonder who on earth had opened some chamber in their name.

Then, suddenly, Draco Malfoy pushed past them and called out: “Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!”

“Oh, come on, Draco!” Liz said angrily, forgetting about her Do’s and Don’ts List. “Don’t act like you had achieved  _ anything. _ Everyone knows that  _ I’m _ the Heir of Slytherin.”

Miri elbowed her. “Hey, what about me?”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, that  _ we _ are the only Heirs of Slytherin in here. And believe me, we’d know if we had opened a chamber.”

Mr Filch came around and started to cry incoherent rubbish, Professor Dumbledore and more teachers followed. When Minerva entered the corridor, both sisters flinched and instinctively tried to get as much space as possible between themselves and Minerva – which was nonsense, talking about a witch who had her wand within reach.

But she only threw them a short glance when Professor Dumbledore, Snape, Lockhart, Filch with his cat and herself went to Lockhart’s office. “Miri, Liz – you come with me.”

It was a little narrow in the office with six adults, four children – Harry, Ron and Hermione had also joined them – and one cat. Harry and his friends sat down on chairs from where they could not see much,  Miri pulled Liz into a corner and nervously tried to make her ribbon look more decently.  Snape didn’t care to examine the stiff cat, but for some reason looked like he was trying hard not to smile.

If Liz had not been so nervous about Minerva’s punishment (which would definitely follow when they were done with Mrs Norris), she had looked like the exact opposite of Snape – fuming with anger but trying to appear calm.  How could they – whoever  _ they _ were – claim to know about  the enemies of the Heir ? And if they were really Heirs of Slytherin, how could they know if they weren’t parseltongues? Which they couldn't be without anyone noticing?

Whoever had written this was a fraud, period.

The only good thing about this whole issue was that Filch obviously thought it was Harry’s fault – for what reason ever. (He had had much more of a reason to hate Liz, but she surely wouldn’t mention that now.) When Minerva would be convinced that her girls hadn’t turned his cat into stone, and they had been present at the party all the time, the worst part would be over. And why exactly should they choose a cat, of all? Liz had not had greater differences with Mrs Norris than with anyone else until now, and Miri could just have moved out if the cat bothered her. Besides, being a cat animagus, Minerva would have sent Liz to an orphanage if she maltreated a cat or a similar animal.

The adults discussed Mrs Norris’s petrification for a while, then they turned to possible punishments for Harry. Strangely, nobody talked about the North sisters. Could it really be that everyone believed they were innocent? For Liz, that seemed a little too easy to be real.

When Professor Dumbledore dismissed Harry, Ron and Hermine, Minerva added: “You can have dinner in your common room. Liz, go tell the house elves to send them some sandwiches.”

* * *

As Liz murmured a hasty “Yes, Ma’am,” and followed her classmates out of the room, Snape gave Minerva a look of reproach. “It’s enough that we let him play Quidditch, can’t you even make them go to bed without dinner?”

“It’s useless to send children to bed without dinner,” Minerva replied calmly. “They’ll only get up in the middle of the night because they’re too hungry to fall asleep and get themselves something to eat.” She looked at Miranda, who remained silent in her corner. “It’s possible that I learnt this the hard way.”

While Dumbledore went on examining the cat, Snape and Minerva stared at the door, Filch was sobbing quietly and Lockhart didn’t know where to go because it still was his office, Miranda bit her lower lip until it started to bleed – who cared if she would look like she had come to blows with a seventh year Slytherin. All of a sudden, she realised that no one had told Liz to come back. If they were unlucky, they’d wait until dawn because she would just go to her dormitory and sleep.

It took a surprisingly short time until Miranda’s apprehensions turned out as unfounded – if there hadn’t been so many stairs in the castle, she would have suspected her sister had used roller skates to get back from the kitchen. When Liz entered the room, she immediately joined Miranda in the corner again.

Dumbledore was the first one to speak. “Well,” he said, “I think we all agree that you two were present at the feast all the time.” Everyone nodded. “Nonetheless, it is said that the Chamber of Secrets can only be opened by the Heirs of Slytherin.” He looked at the girls over his half-moon spectacles. “You.”

Miranda wanted to bite her lip again but was soon reminded that it was already bleeding. “Yes,” she said to save the day when her mouth abruptly jerked open. “And?”

“Can you think of a way to open the Chamber that only the Heirs of Slytherin are capable of?”

Liz lifted her head slowly. “Slytherin’s locket!” she said, and Miranda could have sworn that she had this flash-of-insight look on her face. “I’ve never only seen it in reality. Looks like Slytherin’s strategy didn’t exactly work out.”

Miranda sighed. “Nearly,” she commented. “Parsel, Lizzie. Without Parsel running in our family we wouldn’t even know we’re Slytherins. Oh, and by the way, that means I can’t open the chamber on my own. My attempts at snake language are just… _khhhhh_.”

Liz snickered. “That’s not Parsel _at all,_ ” she said patronisingly and added: _“Be mortified by my mere existence!”_

Minerva looked at Snape questioningly. “Not an insult,” he told her. “And most likely not a cynical remark. Honestly, I’ve no idea what she said.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Parsel, exactly. Since we have no parseltongues at Hogwarts except Elizabeth, I assume the Chamber of Secrets is only used to make the Heirs of Slytherin look responsible for Mrs Norris’s petrification. You don’t happen to know where the Chamber is located?”

Miranda raised her hands to confirm her innocence. “As I said, I couldn't get in there anyway. Subjunctive, I mean. If I knew where it is.”

Liz snorted. “You don’t really ask me to list every single secret chamber I know? But on the other hand, if it’s Salazar Slytherin’s chamber – I think I would’ve recognised it. So, no, no idea.”

“Thank you,” Dumbledore smiled. “That would be all.”

As the headmaster and Filch left Lockhart’s office, Minerva took a step towards her daughters in the corner. “Well…”

Without thinking, Miranda grabbed Liz’s shoulder and pulled her back – an old reflex from the time when they had lived with Mum and Dad. Much to her surprise, Minerva laughed and took her hands out of her pockets.

Now Miranda understood she had made a mistake: Standing in the corner with her back against the wall, Liz and she had no chance to move. If Minerva thought it appropriate, she could easily punch her in the face to make her nose bleed, matching her lip that already hurt badly enough – or even worse, she could punish Liz (who had really misbehaved at some point) physically. Not that Miranda rather wanted to be punched herself, but Liz would additionally have to think of a cover-up story for her classmates, and since at least three people knew she had been okay until midnight, this would be a particularly difficult task. In the worst case, people would think of domestic violence – which it definitely wasn’t, just like the wounds that sometimes occurred when the sisters met in a full moon night.

Liz stepped on her sister’s foot accidentally while trying to get farther back in the corner.

Miranda could see Snape frown in the background.

“Am I really that terrifying?” Minerva laughed.

“Only on Halloween,” Liz muttered underneath her breath.

Dumbledore, who had apparently noticed that something was wrong, trod back into the office.

With the headmaster present, it was a little less likely that Minerva would flip out on them. “It’s Halloween,” Miranda dared to say, easing her grasp on Liz’s shoulder. “It’s because of Halloween. You’re… dangerous… during the end of October. Touchy. And Halloween’s always the worst day.”

“Touchy yes, but dangerous? Don’t you think you’re overdrawing it a little bit?” Snape murmured.

Miranda gently pushed her sister out of the way, then put her right foot on a chair and rolled up her trouser leg. “Remember that one time when Liz asked me about the lily at the age of four?” she asked Minerva, pointing at a scar that resembled something between a star and an ink stain. “That’s where your curse hit me. I was wearing a bandage for a week; thank God you didn’t hit Liz.”

Minerva looked seriously shocked, as though she hadn’t even known about that before. “Didn’t Madam Pomfrey ask how it happened?”

Miranda shrugged and put her foot back on the floor. “I made up a story about the duelling club. Don’t think she believed me, but at least she stopped asking. Honestly, I’ve never experienced such uncontrolled magic before.”

“And have you forgotten last year’s Halloween, when you aimed that vase for my head because of a sudden aversion against snitches and forearms?” Liz followed. “If I hadn’t ducked down, I don’t want to know how the story could’ve ended.”

“And do I really have to remind you of that snails curse when I was nineteen – when I came home in the evening I thought everything was okay, but in the middle of the night Liz was coughing snails all over our blanket and I had to vanish them and change the sheets at two in the morning!” Miranda continued. “Like, it’s good that she wasn’t coughing blood, but did we really need that snails disaster?”

Minerva looked at her girls in turns. “But why didn’t you say anything?” she asked concernedly. I mean… I knew I lost control a few times, but I didn’t realise it was so bad –”

Miranda sat down on one of the chairs that the first years had sat on earlier. “We’re potentially losing control once a month,” she murmured, eyes fixed on her folded hands. “You never complain, don’t even force us to take Wolfsbane. We thought it was your right to lose control once a year, as long as we managed to keep out of your way.”

“Which we didn’t manage because we’re too incompetent,” Liz added. “But I’m working on it.”

Dumbledore looked at Miranda. “You say it started when you were fourteen?”

“Sir – I was twelve when it… when all that _happened,_ and I don’t quite remember the year after that. All I know is that Minerva and I, we had to… _function,_ because of the school, because of my sister, and it seemed to work out somehow – until Halloween, when Liz said: ‘What’s the name of this?’ and I told her ‘That’s a lily’, and… I don’t know what happened, I…” She buried her face in her hands. “I just don’t know.”

“You should have said something much earlier.” Miranda couldn't identify whether he sounded more reproachful or worried. Either way, she felt bad about getting Minerva into trouble.

“What for?” she exclaimed. “To be eventually sent to an orphanage, after I thought we had left that issue behind us?” Someone put their hand on her arm – Liz, who was standing behind her chair. Miranda covered Liz’s hand with her free one. _Don’t worry,_ she thought and hoped telepathy would work for once. _You don’t have to go to an orphanage as long as I’m here._

“You could have told me first,” Minerva said quietly. “I didn’t even know I hit you with my curse.” Snape scooted closer to her and put a comforting hand on her back.

Liz snorted again. “How? _I just wanted to tell you I got zero points on my History assignment, and by the way, it was not nice when you punched me in the face yesterday?_ Any normal person would assume you know what you did, and talking about it doesn’t it reverse it.”

All three professors sighed at the same time (Lockhart had gone to sleep meanwhile). “A lot of questions,” Dumbledore said resignedly, “that don’t lend themselves to searching for answers past midnight. I suggest we all go to bed now; Elizabeth surely doesn’t mind sharing her bed at the dormitory with Miranda for a couple of hours…”

“That will hardly be necessary,” Miranda interrupted him coldly and got up from her chair. “Maybe you missed the fact that your Deputy is not a mass murderer. Key?” She stretched her hand out and Minerva handed her the office key. “Liz?”

Liz followed her out of Lockhart’s office. When Minerva went to bed about half an hour later, the girls were already fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, Miranda doesn't understand what Liz hisses in the part from Miranda's POV. I wrote it as direct speech nevertheless, because I didn't know how else to tell you what is said.


	8. Family

The next day, Minerva told them she was going to see a psychologist who was primarily specialising in magical traumata during the Christmas holidays – she couldn't go earlier because of her duties as a teacher, and they shouldn’t tell her family if they didn’t want to experience some kind of uncontrolled magic that had nothing to do with a trauma.

The next few days were less unnerving than funny for Liz and Miri – everybody ran to the library and borrowed _Hogwarts – A History_ to read about the Chamber of Secrets. Miri had her own copy, but the girls didn’t need to look up a single detail about the Chamber and its origin. It was their heritage, after all, and even Miri, who identified as a Gryffindor student, was exceedingly proud of her Slytherin roots. Further, a few people – mostly Hufflepuffs – believed that Harry was the one who had petrified Mrs Norris, and fled whenever they saw him, while not a single soul cared about Liz.

Not even when she was singing a Parsel song that she knew from Professor Dumbledore’s memories out in the corridors.

Liz was practising Occlumency harder than ever before – Snape had promised to teach her Legilimency when she was ready for it, but at the earliest when she was thirteen. Of course, she knew it was illegal to read people’s memories without their agreement, but everyone who knew Legilimency did it now and then, and who could prove it as long as she didn’t talk about? Especially now she desperately wanted to know what the other scholars thought when she entered the room, compared to what they thought when Harry came in. Yes, Snape had told her that one could not read thoughts like the bible, but Liz trusted it would not be too difficult to learn how to sense what someone else thought, based on the memories Legilimency showed to her.

It was on the next Wednesday, during an average lesson of History of Magic, when Hermione suddenly raised her hand. In the first moment, Liz wanted to reflexively jump up and leave the classroom to report that deviation from the protocol to the headmaster – a proper History lesson had to be boring! (Liz firmly believed that Professor Binns had bored himself to death while preparing his lessons for the next week.)

She soon went back to her Occlumency practise, however, when she realised that Professor Binns knew himself how to get back to the syllabus.

A few minutes later, she noticed that Hermione had eventually got her way: Professor Binns was really telling the legend of Salazar Slytherin and his chamber, but he skipped so many interesting (and partly funny) details that Liz was tempted to laugh at him. If _she_ had told them the story, they’d all together missed dinner.

Anyway, it was plain that Professor Binns didn’t want to talk about the topic because there was no proof, and even if he had known the chamber, it would have been his duty to not tell the scholars.

“Well,” Liz said to Dean when they headed towards the Gryffindor Tower after the lesson, “just another forbidden topic, isn’t it.”

“Forbidden topic?” He looked at her confusedly. “You mean, there are more topics that we shall not know about?”

“Well… no, not exactly _we…_ Actually, it’s more like a family-intern thing. Besides, why don’t you believe me I’m related to Slytherin? I can talk in Parsel for hours, if you want.”

“How do I know it’s really Parsel and not just random hissing sounds?” Dean retorted. “No, I don’t think you’re a Slytherin. You don’t look like it.”

“I don’t _look_ like it? Are you serious? Man, Salazar Slytherin lived _eternities_ ago. And we don’t know how he looked. He could’ve been black, and I was still related to him.”

“Black.” Doubtingly, Dean eyed Liz’s skin that was almost as white as her blouse. “Sure.”

“No, really! Why don’t you believe me?”

* * *

“The situation is getting serious,” Albus said, putting down his cup of tea as he sat in the staff room with the four head teachers. “Students think the Chamber of Secrets has really been opened. Cuthbert told me they had asked him about it in one of his lessons.”

Minerva frowned. “Who?”

“Professor Binns, dear.”

“Oh.” She blinked in confusion. “I didn’t realise he had a first name.”

Severus shook his head. “Me neither.”

The headmaster smirked. “I’m sure Aurora knew.”

“ _Aurora –_ ” Severus begun, but was interrupted by Minerva: “– doesn’t recall him being her _History teacher!_ ”

“Talking about Aurora,” Filius threw in and pointed his head at the other side of the room, where the Astronomy professor was unsuccessfully trying to fight Lockhart off her back. “As I see it, it’s their turn to give the ‘talk’ this year.”

“Forget about Aurora,” Minerva sighed. “I’ll do it for her – we can’t take the risk of teenage pregnancies only because she’s not able to talk about stuff. Concerning Lockhart, we’ll have to see how he would do it.”

Lockhart’s talk was a nightmare. “Need someone to teach the young in the art of lovemaking?” he beamed when Albus explained the issue, and it didn’t get better over the minutes. Nothing explicit that might scare someone, quite the contrary: All he had in stock were vague allusions and highly questionable metaphors that not even all the teachers got the gist of. And for those who did, they still told nothing about menstruation, birth control or STD.

Minerva, who was standing behind Severus and Aurora, couldn’t believe it. “Have I ever told you about my virgin alert?” she whispered. The two of them shook their heads subtly. “It’s a bell in my head that warns me when someone talks about stuff that they have no experience with _at all_.” Aurora snickered, and Minerva was sure that Severus also couldn't suppress a smile. “Right now, it’s absolutely killing me!”

Aurora covered her mouth with her hand and left the room with a hasty “Excuse me!”

Severus took a step backwards, closer to Minerva. “Sure that you don’t want to make him stop talking?” he murmured into her ear. “Because if you do, I’d offer to take over the lesson by my own.”

“Well, if you insist…” She crossed her arms. “Are you kidding me?” she exclaimed. “That’s no sex education, that’s a bad joke! If you tell the kids what you told us, we could have them listening to _The Bad Touch_ just as well – honestly, I think my teenage daughter could do better than you!”

“Her teenage daughter who went to the Forest last week and got us unicorn hair for the Potions classes,” Severus threw in.

“And who is going to play Quidditch with you if you talk about broomsticks,” Hooch followed.

“Who prefers French fries to French kisses.”

“Who is only _thirteen bloody years_ old,” Minerva added. “But at least she doesn’t claim to be an expert at ‘the art of lovemaking’, as you like to put it.”

“Sorry, Gilderoy,” Severus said. “But I think it’s better if I teach the young this year.”

* * *

Over the day, Liz had got more and more frustrated – for multiple reasons. Not only that no one wanted to believe she was a parseltongue, everyone she talked to was also surprised about her attitude towards forbidden topics and everybody, no matter whether she had talked to them or not, seemed to think the real Heir of Slytherin had opened the Chamber of Secrets, and of course that Heir was a Slytherin scholar. Because… for no reason. Period.

After dinner, she rushed down to the dungeons where she knew Snape was brewing and burst through the door without knocking.

“Liz,” he said friendly. “You’d like to learn some more brewing? Why don’t you ask earlier next time, then I can tell you when I start.”

Liz slammed her hands on the table that was nearest to her. “May I ask,” she spoke through gritted teeth, “what on earth that’s supposed to be?”

“An anti-hangover potion. I’ll show you how to make it occasionally, you will need it soon enough.”

“Not the potion! That… conspiracy that’s going on around me!”

“Conspiracy?” Snape looked honestly surprised. “Why don’t you close the door, sit down and explain what you are talking about.”

She breathed heavily in and out, forcing herself not to scream, and closed the door as he had told her. “First,” she said, taking a seat on a desk, “no one believes I’m a parseltongue. Second, they all think the Chamber has been opened by the real Heir and he comes from Slytherin. I’m saying ‘he’ because they don’t even suspect that an Heir could also be female. But what _really_ bothers me is that I seem to be the only child in the world that has a list of forbidden topics!”

“Forbidden topics? What topics do you mean?”

Liz exhaled like she was trying to blow out a candle breathing. “Look,” she said, trying to be patient, “we have we-don’t-talk-about-her and we-don’t-talk-about-him and the four or five people of we-don’t-talk-about-them, we’ve got You-Know-Who as a name and ‘you know who’ for people we don’t talk about but they’re not important enough to have their own nickname, we’ve got the Not-your-business-section with Spinner’s End and Godric’s Hollow and the You-shouldn’t-know-but-you-actually-do-but-you-pretend-you-don’t-department with the Philosopher’s Stone and others, and on top of that we can’t use words like ‘lily’ and ‘pottery’ and ‘serious’ because they could be allusions to further people we don’t talk about –”

Snape raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

The flash of insight struck her like a lightning bolt. “Wait – those further people are the same as we-don’t-talk-about-them?”

“I’m afraid, yes.”

“Okay, but then we still got Miri’s parents, and the Marauders, and Voldemort, and the Not-your-business-section, and you know what department. I talked to about half the class today. They all don’t have such forbidden topics!”

Snape stirred in his cauldron. “Possible. So what?”

“ _So what?_ You all made me believe we were living a perfectly normal family life, that’s what!”

He frowned. “Who exactly is _we?_ ”

“That’s… difficult to define. But that’s not the point. The point is that I was raised to believe that in every family there were dozens of questions not to be asked, because of reasons that no one would ever talk about, and this was a common thing in magical and non-magical households! _Explain yourself!_ ”

Snape sighed. “Liz…”

She tried hard to put on her most stubborn face and make it look like she would not leave before she had got a satisfying answer.

“First of all, sit on a _chair._ ” When she was seated at the desk like a normal Potions scholar, Snape sat down to face her. “Have you ever thought about the possibility that the others have just as much forbidden topics as we have, only they don’t know about them?”

“So, you’re telling me that most people are not interested in topics that happen to be forbidden anyway. You must think that either I’m incredibly stupid or incredibly smart, compared to everyone else.” Liz folded her hands on the table and bent forward. “Maybe I am, but this doesn’t change the fact that most kids can ask about Azkaban at home without giving their mum a reason to cry her eyes out and their other relatives an occasion to cosh them with the rolled-up _Daily Prophet._ ”

Snape covered her hands with his own. “Look,” he said patiently. “There are different types of families, magical as well as non-magical – and you don’t always recognise the actual type on first sight. There’s Seamus, whose father is a muggle and has no problem with his wife being a witch, but there are also men who don’t stay so calm when they find out they married a witch.”

Liz frowned. “You’re not talking about Spinner’s End, are you? ‘Cause that would be a forbidden topic. Same with Tom Riddle junior and senior.”

“Lizzie, you’re stricter about forbidden topics than all of the staff.”

“Where’s the sense in having forbidden topics but talking about them anyway?”

“Right. Well… there are families like the Weasleys’, seemingly harmonic, and there’s Neville, who is never good enough for his grandmother… understandable, but still mean… and there’s your family – maybe you would like to describe it yourself?”

“Strange age gaps, hardly anyone is related by blood, no money left, and excellent marks isn’t good enough?”

“If you look at it matter-of-factly, yes. But still I’m convinced that there’s more harmony in your family than in the Weasleys’, despite the forbidden topics.”

“So, we’re not living a perfectly normal family life because there is no such thing as a normal family?” Liz withdrew her hands from Snape’s grasp.

“Exactly.” He got up from the desk and went back to his cauldron. “Besides, I bet Draco can’t ask about Azkaban either. If the Malfoys don’t have a Not-your-business-section and that department whose name I’m not going to say, too, I’m a horseshoe bat.”

Liz laid her head to one side as though she was trying to find common features of Snape and a horseshoe bat. “Well…”

He shot her a death stare. “Seriously?!”

* * *

In the next Defence lesson, Lockhart – who had proceeded to reading from his books and letting Harry play the role of whatever he claimed to have defeated – taught them about a complex _Homorphus_ spell, which was used to re-transform werewolves. Liz fully concentrated on her Charms essay; she knew well enough that there was no such thing as a _Homorphus_ spell and that everything that came near a werewolf better was a fast runner if it didn’t want to die. Ahem. Like countless rabbits, squirrels, unicorns… of which the latter two usually were too fast for her, but rabbits were delicious. Liz didn’t even blush over that thought – rabbits _were_ delicious, only in human shape she didn’t like them raw.

It only got spine-chilling when Lockhart told them their homework. Liz was technically not able to go pale, but if her skin had been just a few shades darker, everyone had noticed the blood vanishing from her face.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long until she spotted Minerva and Snape in an alcove, probably bitching about scholars as usual. Which was okay because, if they didn’t do it regularly, they would take it out on their colleagues, Liz, and Draco, who was Snape’s godson. Today, however, Liz couldn't wait until they were done with their conversation.

“I need to talk to you!” she hissed. “Both,” she added when they looked at her questioningly. “Now.”

“Can’t that wait until tonight?” Minerva complained. “We’re right in the middle of –”

“Uh, no, because if it could I wouldn’t have asked yet?” Still, she was breathing like after a marathon. “It’s about ‘Wanderings with Werewolves’, if that’s convincing you.”

Minerva’s face fell. “Then it’s important.” Without hesitating, she pulled Snape and her daughter to an empty classroom and locked the door.

“Lockhart’s got a completely wrong idea of werewolves!” Liz started to report. “I’m not sure I got it right, but it looks like he thinks they once transform and then stay in their wolf shape to attack villages once a month, and only a _Homorphus_ spell can transform them back.”

“I know,” Minerva nodded. “I already got myself in trouble because I told him how much more I know about werewolves than he does.”

“And I had to meet her on the Astronomy Tower during full moon to prove Lockhart that she’s not a werewolf herself,” Snape added.

“Exactly that’s my problem!” Liz continued upset. “He wants us to write a poem about his victory over that fictitious werewolf!”

“Oh.” Snape looked at Minerva. “In terms of poetry, you’ll have to ask your mum for help. You know my potions riddle from last year, that would earn you minus twenty points at most.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Liz was desperate. “I _can’t_ write that poem! Otherwise, someone will notice that I know far too much about lycantrophy, and then we can’t just prove that I’m not a werewolf because, in case you forgot, I’ve been one for my whole fucking life, and that’s not going to change because of some random wannabe-author!”

“Don’t worry,” Minerva soothed her. “You don’t have to write the poem.”

And Snape added: “I’ll write you an excuse that says you couldn't do your homework because you spent the whole evening in detention.”

“Do you mean detention or…”

“I wanted to show you the anti-hangover potion, don’t you remember?”

Liz grinned. “Honestly, I love you guys.”

“We love you too, Liz,” Snape murmured as she headed towards the door. Minerva gave him a funny look. “What’s your problem, Min?!”

She snickered. “And you keep saying she’s not your daughter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, _The Bad Touch_ by Bloodhound Gang is actually from 1999, but it fits so good that I pretended it was from 1990 or so.


	9. Lessons for Life

The day when Lockhart gave them the werewolf poem for homework, they all got their ‘talk’. Meanwhile, Liz had blackmailed her sister to blackmail Snape to give her the memory of Slughorn’s talk, and after they had discussed the memory and the blackmailing photo back and forth a few times, he agreed. Liz figured that he still didn’t want her to listen Slughorn’s speech, but since the chance was given that Miri would hear it, too, he was less reluctant about it.

Their lessons in the afternoon were cancelled, instead the boys had to go to a classroom with Snape and the girls with Professor McGonagall to get the – thus far – worst and seemingly longest lesson in their entire time at Hogwarts. After a few minutes in her mum’s class, Liz excused herself to go to the toilet – they weren’t yet done with the topic of menstruation, which the girl had grown to be an expert at during the last two years. From the kitchen, she got herself a muesli bowl to use as a pensieve, then she sat down in an empty classroom and dived into the memory from 1972.

Snape’s warning had not been an exaggeration. That was the first thing that came to her mind when Slughorn started his graphic depictions of – well, Liz was surely not going to reformulate it. Altogether, it was _dreadful._ Sure, the facts were the same that Snape and Professor McGonagall probably told their pupils in this moment, but _how_ he told them… Like, okay, there were indeed things that needed to be explained, but other things… didn’t. Couldn’t. Some things just weren’t made to be talked about. And apparently, Slughorn was firmly determined to ignore this fact.

Dinner was more than just a little awkward that night – that was, for those who attended dinner at all. It was all moaning and muttering about the lesson and not looking at each other, mostly from the boys, while they hurried to finish eating and go to bed as soon as possible.

“I _told_ you!” Liz whispered when she passed a jar of pumpkin juice over to Harry. “Didn’t you read my letter? I _told_ you to get earplugs!”

* * *

The next day, Gryffindor won a Quidditch match against Slytherin. Harry managed to get his arm broken somehow (Liz didn’t actually pay attention), and due to his lack of self-defending skills had his bones disappeared by Lockhart. How ever one could confuse a healing and a de-boning spell.

The following night, Colin Creevey got petrified and his camera was turned into scrap. Lucky, Liz and her sister were sleeping in Minerva’s flat when their mum got up for her shift and found Colin. Secretly, both sisters were glad that he wouldn’t bother them for a while, but they weren’t so dumb and told it to anyone.

One morning in December, Mr Kettleburn came to Minerva’s office when Liz was just getting ready for school.

“You’re a few minutes too late,” Minerva told him. “Miranda has already gone to work.”

“Before breakfast?”

“Yes, she does that sometimes.”

He looked around himself exhaustedly. “Then, when she comes back, can you please tell your daughter what I think of breaking our engagement and disapparating at half past twelve in the morning?”

“I beg your pardon?” Minerva raised an eyebrow.

Liz was not so polite. “She did _what?!_ ”

“She said it didn’t feel right and she needed her freedom, felt not ready to tie herself down yet and it was better to break the engagement, but she’d appreciate it if we could stay friends. And then she took on her shoes and disapparated. I thought it wouldn’t be such a brilliant idea to show up here at night, that’s why I waited until now.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Minerva said, and Liz could almost see the anger slowly rising inside her. “In this special case, though, I would have said nothing if you’d sorted things out on the spot.”

“When you say ‘sorted things out’, do you mean…”

“Forced her to marry you.” Minerva’s voice was fierce. “This is not about whether you want this or not. It is something you have to do. Besides, you love her, don’t you?”

“Please, Minerva – I was going to get myself bitten for her next month.”

Her gaze drifted into nowhere. “If you love someone, you should keep them by your side as long as you can.”

Liz put on her school robes over her uniform. “You talking ‘bout Victoria?” Victoria had been Minerva’s long-term girlfriend. Since they had split up eight years ago, Minerva hated her with a passion.

“No, Elizabeth. I’m talking about Miranda.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Well, you gotta know…”

“I need my freedom, what’s so difficult to understand about that?” Miranda had come home for lunch after Minerva had called her on her mobile phone from a public telephone, sounding dangerously composed and telling her to come to Hogwarts either now or never again. Right now, she was standing in Minerva’s office and trying to convince her family of how right her decision had been.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “You need freedom but you’re still living in the same old boarding school that you could have left at the age of seventeen?”

Miranda groaned out loud. No idea why Minerva always had to take everything literally. “Spending my whole life with him just didn’t feel right, what’s wrong with that?”

“IT DIDN’T FEEL RIGHT?!” Liz exploded.

Why did they always have to overreact when something about her love life changed?

“Do you know what else doesn’t feel right? Telling people: _Hi, I’m your Transfiguration teacher, and I never made it past second year – let’s see how many of you pass their N.E.W.T.s!_ But I’ll do it anyway, because I have to! And of course you can teach, if you want, and I can marry, if I want; but primarily it’s my job to teach and yours to marry – pull yourself together, walk over to your fiancé and _apologise!_ ”

“No.” Miranda pointed her wand at the wardrobe in the flat. Clothes, hair ties, her comb and a pair of shoes floated into a suitcase. “I’m not going to apologise for _anything_ I did,” she said firmly. “It’s my life and I decide what I want to do with it.” She shut the suitcase and went to the office door.

Liz blocked her way. “I can’t believe it!” she said incredulously. “You just ruined my life! Shouldn’t you at least _try_ to make amends?”

“Mmh… let me see what I can do… Oh, yes – I’ll come to your wedding,” she smiled, shoving Liz out of the way. “And now, if you allow, I’m going on holidays. _On my own._ ”

* * *

During Potions class this afternoon, Liz mechanically followed the instructions on the blackboard step by step. She didn’t even know what they were brewing, and she also didn’t care. What difference did it make, after all?

When Snape came by and told her to stay after the lesson, she didn’t bother to put an expression, no matter which one, on her blank face. “Yes, Sir.”

Seconds later, someone’s cauldron exploded. Liz absent-mindedly raised her hands and cast a wandless shield charm. Snape shouted at someone. Liz stared into her cauldron. She felt too tired to care.

When the lesson was over, she remained sitting on her desk. Snape sauntered over to her and leant against a nearby desk. “I missed your usual enthusiasm today,” he said.

She looked at him. Minimal questioning expression. No idea where he was heading.

“Don’t you want to tell me what happened?” He looked at her attentively – if Liz hadn’t known better, she would have thought he looked worried. But that couldn't be; he just wanted to make sure the few good scholars were okay. No personal reasons. No one ever cared for her because of personal reasons. If even her sister was willing to take every choice off Liz for her own benefit, why would the Potions Master care about her well-being?

Liz brought her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on them. Fuck ‘no feet on the table’. Too tired to answer. Too tired to cry.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Snape said in that special Liz-and-Minerva-tone. “But if you don’t talk, no one can help you.”

… _and then you’ll end up spluttering uncontrolled magic like your mum._ He didn’t have to say it, Liz knew it was true.

Inhale. Major effort. Exhale. How was she going to talk when she could hardly breathe. Not to mention the use of question marks. Inhale. Surprisingly find the energy to use her voice. “Miri broke her engagement.” Realise it wasn’t as hard to say as she imagined it.

“Now I’m the one to marry.” Surprisingly find the energy to cry. Drown in a wave of self-pity. “But why do you even ask? I’m just a useless incompetent werewolf wasting your time!”

Snape touched her shoulder. “It’s true that you’re a useless werewolf,” he said gently. “But you’re by no means wasting my time.”

Not incompetent. She was not incompetent and no waste of time. Conversely, it meant she was competent and important.

This was not much, but for Liz it was enough of a reason to compose herself and get off the desk. Which again wasn’t much, but compared to a few minutes ago when only breathing had been exhausting, it was huge.

“I hope you understand that I’m not going to give you any potions or sleeping draughts,” Snape told Liz when they left the dungeons together. “That’s something you’ll have to cope with on your own.”

She stopped and looked up at him in surprise. “Sir – I would never ask for potions!”

He frowned. “Never?”

“Yeah, okay, except Wolfsbane. Professor, I know I’m a bother for all of the staff, but I’ve been taught enough decency to not make more demands on you than I have to.”

“Stop talking like that!”

“You mean in English?”

“You’re not bothering us at all, and you know that.”

“Mmh, that’s why Filch likes to have me hanging from the ceiling by my ankles.”

Snape refused to continue the conversation before Liz would change the topic, while Liz insisted that there was no other interesting topic that was not completely boring. But at least her mood was back to normal.

* * *

Not even 24 hours later, Liz’s composure was put to the test – a test which it wouldn’t pass.

Somewhen during the History lesson – they were back to the usual topics and nobody dared or bothered to raise questions – Professor Binns happened to come across the topic of political marriage. At first, it seemed like it wouldn’t be a problem for Liz to stay calm, but then Professor Binns started to introduce examples from the period that they were about to discuss, and when he talked about couples that fell in love anyway, others that learnt to live together over the years and yet others that hated each other until their death, Liz had to realise that blinking furiously didn’t work anymore. She took her bag, that she had not even opened to take her History book out, and quietly left the classroom. Hardly anyone noticed.

When Minerva came home to her flat in the evening, Liz was lying on her bed like she had been half of the day, turning a purple plush owl between her hands. Miri had sewn that owl from one of her Mum’s old dresses, in Liz’s first week at Hogwarts. So, basically at the point where her life had really started – two years late. The owl was the only item connected to her mother that Liz tolerated, mainly because Miri had been the one to turn it into a plush toy, and it was also connected to many happy memories by now. And because it was the only actual toy she had ever possessed.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Minerva, who sat down on the edge of the bed and took the owl from her. Liz made a little protesting noise and stretched out her hand like a small child, but Minerva just stored the owl on a shelf that was too high for Liz to reach and sat back down. “You didn’t attend half of your classes today.”

This was clearly not meant to be a question, so Liz didn’t give a proper answer. “Mmh.”

“After your History lesson.”

“Possible.”

Minerva sighed. “Lizzie, I _know_ it hurts, but you can’t just skip classes like that!”

“Don’t you see how much I can?”

Minerva sighed again. “I say we have dinner with the others, and afterwards you can tell me what happened at the History lesson.”

Liz pulled a face. “I don’t want to go to the Great Hall.”

She would have expected a lecture about how not even Elizabeth North could skip classes and meals whenever she felt like it, but instead her mum brushed some loose strands out of her face and returned the owl with a smile. “Understandable. I’ll have the house elves bring you something to the office.”

* * *

 **Author’s Note:** **The original version of ‘Sleeping Beauty’ is mentioned in the next paragraph. Skip the rest of the chapter if you don’t want to get disenchanted!**

* * *

Minerva had managed to switch her early night shift with Aurora, who was assigned for the second shift, and spend the evening at home. While they had had dinner in the Great Hall, Liz had eaten a single sandwich and changed into her nightgown. No homework was done, Hagrid would have to look after Selene (Miri had taken Aiolos with her), and Minerva was sure she wouldn’t get much work done herself.

Around half past eleven, when Liz had finally fallen asleep, someone knocked on the bedroom door. Liz mumbled something and turned around in her bed, and Minerva, anxious that she might wake up again, didn’t dare to get up from the edge of the bed. Another knock at the door, louder this time. “One moment, for god’s sake!” Minerva hissed at the door, then again dedicated her attention to Liz, who was threatening to awake. “Sleep on, Lizzie.” Liz closed her eyes again and pulled her blankets up to her chin – yes, she had two blankets. It was winter at Hogwarts, after all.

Hesitantly, the door opened. Minerva turned her head between Liz and the entrance hurriedly before she decided that Liz was going to sleep through the night from now on and slowly rose from the mattress. Moving towards the door, she saw Severus standing in the office and pointing his head at the open office door. “Damn, Severus, I’m coming!”

When she had grabbed her cloak from the coat rack and shoved her colleague out of the office, he took a moment to look at her from head to toe and questioningly raise an eyebrow. “Date?”

Minerva knew what he meant – she was still fully dressed, since Liz had not even let her think of going to bed herself. She snorted a laugh before she replied: “Counter question – why are you up at this time of the night? You’re not on duty until 5.30.”

“Aurora sent me – thought you needed a little emotional support. Or at least that’s how she put it.” The two of them started pacing the corridors. “Now, what about your… evening program?”

“Well.” Minerva pretended she had to consider first and put on her cloak. “Do you accept a heartbroken daughter?”

“Depends on which daughter you mean.”

She sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know how many fairy tales I had to read in the last two hours to make her fall asleep. And every time when there was only the slightest allusion to marriage, she got unsettled again.”

“But now she’s sleeping,” Severus tried to cheer her up.

“Yes, after I told her the original version of Sleeping Beauty. You know, the one where the princess gets raped and only wakes up when her daughter is sucking the needle out of her finger… but it’s got a much more logical ending than the children-friendly version, and there’s no marriage in it.” She sighed again. “Sitting on the bedside has never ever been so stressful.”

“Not even when we thought Liz would die of a pneumonia and we still don’t know how she survived?”

“When I say _never ever,_ I mean it! And that pneumonia was not my fault.”

“No one ever said it was.”

“No, but they all thought it!” Minerva shot back and was surprised that her glasses didn’t grow damp. “I’m already looking forward to the year when I can’t visit my family for Christmas because Liz has the flu, and then my lovely cousin will look at her spoilt brats and say ‘I’d really like to know what you did wrong _this_ time’, and then I’ll feel impelled to use the _Cruciatus_ on her, and then they won’t invite me over ever again!”

Severus put his arm around her shoulder. “No one is blaming you, Minerva,” he said calmly. “Kids do sneak out at night, everyone knows that. You snook out as a child, Miri did, I’m pretty sure even Draco Malfoy did. That’s not even worth commenting on.”

She freed herself from his embrace and glared at him angrily. “But Draco Malfoy didn’t walk to the Shrieking Shack in the middle of winter to transform into a werewolf when he was seven years old!” she hissed. “I’m pretty sure _that_ would be worth commenting!”

Severus brought his arm back up. “Don’t beat yourself up. I can assure you that I got severely ill a few times due to sneaking out, but I obviously survived, and the only people to blame my parents were themselves.” Minerva made a pained noise. “I know this is hard,” he went on. “I know you had enough problems without Miranda messing around, and you’re always afraid of failing as a parent – much more than as a teacher…” Minerva took off her glasses and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her cloak. “And I know you’re too tired to stay up until half past two. I’ll walk you back to your office, and then you immediately go to sleep.”

“But I –”

“I’m taking your shift. Period.”


	10. Duelling and French Wine

When the headmaster allowed Lockhart to found a duelling club and choose Severus as his assistant – the response to insulting his competence concerning sex education – Severus and Filius agreed that it would be grossly negligent to let Liz participate, especially in her current mood.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Minerva complained as soon as she got back from her walk through Hogsmeade and heard about their decision.

“Would you let her?” Filius asked her doubtingly.

Minerva took off her cloak and robes that were dripping with molten snow. “No, but I’m still the legal guardian of us, and I’m not bad at duelling either!”

Severus smiled at her patronisingly. “That’s because I taught you.”

“Excuse me?! You didn’t teach me _any_ –”

“In your fourth to seventh year.”

Minerva bent down to pick up her wand, that had fallen from her pocket when taking the robes off. “Well, if you count wrecking classrooms and corridors as teaching…” Before she could finish her sentence, Severus vanished all the hair pins in her bun. Damp curls fell into her face and blocked her view.

When Minerva had cast a drying charm and tied her hair to a sloppy ponytail, her eyes sparkled in a way that resembled Liz’s typical expression when she was up to no good. “You want a fight?” Teasingly, she added: “Aww, you should have said something!”

She was laughing as she blocked his _Expelliarmus_ and shot a _Tarantallegra_ at him. Severus blocked it and ran out of the staff room.

Not for the first time, Minerva was grateful for the invention of blue jeans. Severus hadn’t reached the end of the corridor when she was already on top of him, pointing her wand at his throat. “Teaching, huh?”

“I apologise,” he said resignedly. “Get off me.”

“You wish. Let’s hope that Lockhart doesn’t need you for practical demonstrations.”

“Lockhart isn’t as good as you.” A group of scholars entered the corridor, saw the two professors on the floor and immediately left again. “Respectable teachers, aren’t we.”

“Indeed. I need a Prefect badge.”

“Min, you’re not a teenager anymore.”

“Nor are you. Defeating you is better as a Prefect.”

“If you mean. Get off me.”

“No.”

* * *

Liz would have been in the mood for joining the duelling club, especially as Professor Flitwick had quit her private duelling lessons in October, but unfortunately, he had also forbidden her to go to Lockhart’s club. It would be unfair if Liz with all her experience mixed with the beginners, he had claimed. He hadn’t said a thing about watching, however, and so it came to pass that Liz sneaked up to the Great Hall in the evening to watch the others duelling from her favourite alcove.

It was interesting to see how Lockhart stammered his lesson worse than his predecessor Quirrell, while Snape contained himself and limited his actions to a few well-placed curses and comments.

When they told the scholars to pair up and practise _Expelliarmus_ on their own, there wasn’t much to see for Liz because everyone shot jinxes at his partner, all but _Expelliarmus,_ and the Great Hall was soon filled with smoke that made it even harder to watch.

Lockhart, who was visibly confused because nobody took his advice, suggested to show how to block jinxes and curses next. This was, in Liz’s opinion, not the best idea, considering the pupils’ reaction to the previous task – she had spent months blocking Professor Flitwick’s jinxes, and all too often she had ended up struck by a spell that was not dangerous but quite unnerving. Who could make sure that the kids didn’t use more dangerous spells?

Apparently, that was what Lockhart thought himself, anyway he didn’t show it with Snape but picked two scholars to demonstrate – Draco and Harry. Not really a better choice than Lockhart and Snape, but… stuff it.

Draco was supposed to attack Harry; Harry should block the attack, only that Lockhart showed him… uh… absolutely _nothing_ about how to block and expected this to work. Maybe someone should tell him that this was not a novel but his real life? In which people could really die because of his incompetence?

Snape whispered something to Draco, and the boy used _Serpensortia._ Interesting thought to employ it in a duel, Liz thought – she sometimes used it when she felt lonely and wanted to talk to someone, but letting the snake do your work was also a funny idea. Lockhart tried to make it disappear; instead Draco’s snake threatened to attack Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Just when Liz wanted to jump from her alcove and call it back, Harry shouted at the snake to leave Justin alone. Everyone looked at him, scared and confused. Apparently they thought, Harry was the Heir of Slytherin. Great.

Liz sauntered from her alcove towards Harry. _“Great performance, Potter,”_ she hissed. _“No chance they will think you’re the Heir of Slytherin… like, why should they. Come over to me, beautiful.”_ She knelt down and touched the snake’s back with gentle fingertips. _“You’re a nice one, huh? You don’t bite me.”_ When Liz got up again, the serpent wound up around her legs. “What do you say now, Dean? Do I still ‘not look like it’?”

“S-sorry,” Dean stammered, “I didn’t know…”

Snape threw her an indulgent glance. “That’s enough now, Liz.” With a wave of his wand, the snake disappeared and left Liz covered in black dust. “There’s a reason why we didn’t let you join the club.”

She frowned. “Snakes?”

“No, we didn’t want you to show off again.”

The Great Hall emptied rapidly – everybody, including Lockhart, seemed to assume the lesson was over.

“Did you know Potter is a parselmouth?” Snape asked.

Liz shook her head. “No, but now I regret everything I hissed at him last year.”

“No secrets, hopefully?”

“No… mostly insults and sarcastic comments. He never showed that he had understood what I said.”

“Maybe you should just overthink your rate of sarcastic comments, that would solve a lot of problems.”

“And speak three languages _because I can_ , is that what you mean?”

* * *

“Maybe he didn’t know he can talk to snakes himself,” Pomona mused. The Heads of Houses and the headmaster were having kind of an informal conference in the staff room – everyone free to join or leave, input of all kinds appreciated.

“Like he didn’t know about his talent for flying?” Hooch asked. As said before, it was an informal conference.

Minerva managed to snort, roll her eyes and reach for her glass of wine at the same time. “You two have obviously no idea what you’re talking about.” She took a sip and ignored Hooch, who muttered “Unquestioned parental expertise incoming” underneath her breath. “For flying, as you may have noticed, you need a broomstick. For talking, you don’t need much more than a functioning tongue and vocal chords. I still recall the time when Liz learned to speak Parsel…” Most of the other present teachers smiled with nostalgia, while Hooch groaned out loud and emptied her own glass of wine in one gulp. “Before she learnt to speak it consciously, she would just randomly hiss at people and they had no idea what she wanted to tell them – it was so unnerving that even _I_ realised she had to be a parselmouth.” She looked at the others over the rim of her glasses. “Guys, you know me, I’m practically blind to everything I don’t want to see.”

Hooch reached for the bottle on the table between them. “If that’s the famous Gryffindor idiocy, I’m starting to see why you are Head of House.”

“Well,” Albus continued the discussion before Minerva could think of a fitting retort, “assuming Harry knew that he can talk to snakes. How likely is it that he tells the truth, that he really told the snake to leave the boy alone?”

“More than likely,” Severus stated from his armchair next to Minerva. “It didn’t sound like a deathly command. Besides, Liz says that’s what he told the snake, and I can’t imagine why she would lie in order to prevent Harry from being thrown out.”

“You two behave like nifflers when it comes to your daughter,” Hooch murmured. “Look at the glittery stuff and ignore the rest.”

Severus leant back in his armchair. “Why do you so desperately want to die, Rolanda Xiomara Hooch? If only you could think of a statement that insults both plants and duelling, then you had the full four Heads of Houses on your heels.”

“Assuming he knew it and is telling the truth,” Albus went on, “if he’s innocent, why didn’t he tell us about his special ability right after the incident with Mrs Norris? And why didn’t we notice it much earlier – I would think there must have been signs during his first year already.” He looked at Minerva, probably thinking that, as a Head of House, it was her task to take note of such signs.

She threw her head back in frustration. “I don’t fucking know, Albus!”

Severus gave her an indulgent side glance. “But you do know you’re drinking too much?”

Minerva emptied her glass. “Indeed, I know,” she said. “And I’ve absolutely no problem with you living my life, if I can live yours in return. Brewing a few potions, taking points from Gryffindor and commenting on my colleagues’ consumption of alcohol must be much easier than being a Deputy Headmistress, Head of House and mum of two lycantrophile daughters messing around with last wishes and their Slytherin heritage.”

When she beckoned Hooch to give her the bottle, the Flying instructor hesitated. “I’m not sure whether I should support your unhealthy habits…”

“Don’t worry,” Severus told her. “You’re not any better than her. And you both get insufferable when drinking French wine.”


	11. Another Attack

Liz had started to spend her mornings training her pony Selene before school, so when Herbology was cancelled because of the bad weather, she had nothing to keep herself busy with. After she had failed trying to stare out of a window without melting into tears, she met Madam Hooch, who was about to go flying despite the blizzard. The Flying instructor took her along to the Quidditch pitch, allowed Liz to tame a school broomstick that had apparently gone mad (or at least try to tame it) and started practising stunts herself.

At first, Liz had the broomstick in hand – precisely: in both hands – both literally and metaphorically. Yes, it bucked and acted like crazy, but she still could set the rough direction. Minerva would probably have forbidden her daughter to ride that specific broomstick if she had known about it, but to Liz it felt just right. Dealing with a minor issue like a stubborn flying device outdoors was a refreshing alternative to sitting around in the old dusty castle, mourning over her lost chances in life and getting the choice between crying, being passive-aggressive or losing house points by acting actively aggressively. Nothing seemed to matter, not the happy couples on the corridors, not the people who talked behind her back, not the shabby Gryffindor scarf around her head. Only the wind in her hair, the snowflakes melting on her nose and the inebriate feeling of gripping a broomstick with the pair of dragon hide gloves that she had, uh, borrowed from Minerva.

Then, however, the blizzard got worse and she more and more lost control. Liz clung to the broomstick, it felt like she had frozen to it anyway, and helplessly felt herself being swirled through the air like one of the snowflakes. The weather was bad for flying, she thought far too late, especially on such a challenging broomstick… Then she had to duck her head if she didn’t want to be decapitated by low-hanging branches. Branches? Where on the Quidditch pitch could _branches_ be found? Oh. She was not on the Quidditch pitch anymore. Liz spotted a large tree to her left – when she looked down, she realised the branches weren’t low-hanging at all, only she was not low either. At least it was not the Whomping Willow, she thought; then she was thrown against the trunk, slid from her broomstick and fell… deep… deeper… deeper… until she suddenly slowed down and gently touched the ground. Thank God she was a witch.

Next thing she knew, Madam Hooch and the mad broomstick landed next to her. Everything was white – snow. Snow in her collar. Snow in her boots. Snow everywhere. Her left arm hurt – probably black and blue all over. Nothing that wouldn’t go away in a couple of days. Slowly, Liz got up from the ground, carefully holding the left arm still. Sure, it was just a minor bruise, but she really didn’t have to make it hurt more than necessary. “Contusion,” she told Madam Hooch. “Nothing special. Let me put away that broomstick, I’ll go back in.”

Madam Hooch traced her fingers over Liz’s injured upper arm and frowned. “I would rather think it’s a fraction,” she said, sounding worried.

“Rubbish!” Liz said contemptuously. “That’s not how it works, arms don’t just –” She stopped gesticulating and held her breath for a moment as she felt a stinging pain in her arm, indeed untypical for a contusion. “Okay,” she gasped, “I’ll take that back, they do break… Guess I’ll go to the Hospital Wing then.” She reached for the mad broomstick to put it back to the broom shed, but Madam Hooch was faster.

“ _You_ go to the infirmary,” she said resolutely. “I deal with the brooms.”

Sighing, Liz accepted her fate and made her way back to the castle. Lucky, she didn’t meet anyone because it was the middle of her free lesson and everybody was busy with their classes. Climbing the first few steps, she felt a headache raising. She waited a few seconds until it evened out, then hurried up the remaining stairs to the next floor, only for the headache to come back. Liz guessed she had a light concussion. It wasn’t unlikely that she had banged her head somewhen during the broomstick incident. She took care to take the rest of the stairs more slowly although for once she couldn't wait to reach the infirmary – Merlin knew what would happen if she met Lockhart on her way.

Madam Pomfrey healed the fraction in the blink of an eye. Still, Liz’s arm was all blue, but she refused to use special ointment for it. Like her organism couldn't handle a few black and blue marks. What she didn’t mention at all was the headache: If she started talking about a concussion, Madam Pomfrey would keep her overnight, and a night at the Hospital Wing was the last thing she needed.

When Liz walked back to the common room to get her books – walking downstairs was a little easier than upstairs – she saw Harry on a corridor that she was about to cross. And Justin Finch-Fletchley, petrified. And Sir Nicholas, mysteriously turned black. Maybe petrified too, that was difficult to specify talking about a ghost.

She looked at Justin and Sir Nicholas, then at Harry. Liz could tell that she probably looked just as shocked as him. Justin. Sir Nicholas. Harry. “Well,” she finally said, “that’s not our fault, is it?”

Harry slowly shook his head.

“So, that’s two potential culprits fewer,” she concluded. “Three, if you count Madam Pomfrey. I’m coming straight from the Hospital Wing.”

Harry looked like he didn’t understand a single word, or maybe he just couldn't believe that Liz talked so casually about the guy who had petrified two scholars, one cat and probably a ghost so far. Before he had a chance to say something – if he had even wanted to say something – Peeves appeared and started bawling his lungs out, and it didn’t take a genius to know what that meant. Within seconds, all the scholars stormed from their classrooms to watch, while the teachers were a tiny minority trying to get them out of the way not all too successfully.

Eventually, only Liz, Harry and Professor McGonagall remained. “Liz,” Professor McGonagall said shortly, “Mr Potter,” then motioned to them to follow her and marched around the corner, apparently to the entrance of Professor Dumbledore’s office.

“Mum –” Liz said, trying to keep up with her and ignore the pain in her skull and arm. Schoolboy error. Her mum insisted on being called by first name, but sometimes Liz said ‘Mum’ by mistake – it was so close to ‘Min’ and all. Professor McGonagall turned her head to give her daughter a death stare.

“Professor, I swear, we didn’t –” Harry followed, only to earn another death stare. Liz couldn't help feeling sorry for him, but even more for herself. Bruises, head banged, and now being taken to the headmaster for getting back from the infirmary at the wrong time. Couldn’t get much worse, could it?

Professor Dumbledore’s self-moving stairs made both Liz and Harry feel dizzy, less because of Liz’s fall or another accident than because of the way the spiral staircase seemed to rotate around itself. Still, there was one good thing about it: If the stairs hadn’t been moving, Liz would never have made it all the way up by her own.

Once they had reached the end of the stairs, Liz and Harry entered the headmaster’s office, while Minerva left again – probably went back to teaching. For lack of a chair, Liz kneeled on the floor and put her head into her hands, trying to dispel the dizziness. Her attempts were not hundred per cent successful, but better than nothing. Meanwhile, Harry explored the office. Liz could understand him – it was one of the most interesting rooms in the whole castle, and after years of being educated by Professor Dumbledore, she still could spend hours in the office without getting bored.

When Liz lifted her head, her gaze fell on Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore’s phoenix. To her pleasure, he didn’t look good at all. Maybe she would get the chance to see him burn today?

She was right: Only seconds after she had finished the thought, Fawkes went up in flames. Harry looked at her in panic, and when he realised she was not going to do anything, he looked for a glass of water to extinct the fire. Of course, he couldn't find one. “ _Liz!_ ”

Liz smirked. “Always interesting to watch him burn,” she stated, at the risk of sounding like a maniac. Well, yes, she had a thing for flames. Why deny it?

The door opened and Professor Dumbledore came in.

“Professor!” Harry gasped. “Your bird – I couldn’t do anything – he just caught fire –”

Liz snickered and carefully got up from the floor. The headmaster smiled, too. “About time, too. He’s been looking dreadful for days; I’ve been telling him to get a move on.” Harry looked like Professor Dumbledore was talking Troll. “Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flames when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him…”

Liz approached the desk which the headmaster was now taking a seat at. “It’s a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day. He’s really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers and they make highly _faithful_ pets.”

Then, suddenly, Hagrid burst through the door, carrying a dead rooster in one of his hands. “It wasn’t Harry, Professor Dumbledore! I was talking to him _seconds_ before that kid was found, he never had time, Sir – it can’t have been him, I’ll swear it in front of the Ministry of Magic if I have to –”

“Hagrid, I –” the headmaster tried to interrupt, but Hagrid went on. “You’ve got the wrong boy, Sir, I know Harry never –”

Liz wished he wouldn’t shout like that – maybe her concussion was not as light as she had thought.

“ _Hagrid!_ ” Dumbledore said again, “I do not think that Harry attacked those people.”

“Oh. And Liz –”

“Doesn’t petrify people either.”

“Well. I’ll wait outside.” And Hagrid left again and took his rooster with him.

“You don’t think it was me, Professor?” Harry reassured himself.

“No, Harry, I don’t,” Dumbledore replied. “But I still want to talk to you. Liz – you didn’t petrify Mrs Norris and Colin, there’s no reason why you should suddenly start to compete against Slytherin’s monster. But you can stay here as well.” He took his time until he continued. “I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you’d like to tell me,” he then said. “Anything at all.”

Harry thought about the question for a moment. “No,” he then said, “there isn’t anything, Professor.”

“Liz?”

“Well.” Liz sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know where to start. My life is a mess, always has been, but recently, it’s really got extreme. There’s my sister, ruining my future life at a time where I really can’t use it, then there’s Flitwick and Snape, forbidding me to attend the duelling club and seriously wondering when I go watch, Lockhart strangely tolerating my working morale, a broomstick going mad and crashing me against a tree…”

Professor Dumbledore frowned. “Your broomstick did go mad while you were flying?”

“No, it had been mad before, but I’ve never crashed with a tree before! Why now, of all?”

He smiled in a way that made Liz feel he didn’t take her serious. “I’m going to talk that through with Madam Hooch. Anything else you want to tell me about?”

“At the moment, no.”

“Then I suggest you both get your books and go to your Transfiguration lesson.”


	12. Relationships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the film While You Were Sleeping.

It took about a week until Liz could run up stairs and shake her head again. Much to her misfortune, Snape didn’t wait so long to talk to Minerva about the state of their relationship. The evening after the latest attack, he stood in her office and waited for her to come out of the bedroom.

“Go,” Liz told Minerva, who was sitting on the edge of her bed again.

“Sure?”

Liz nodded. “At least one of us should have fun.”

“Okay.” Minerva closed the fairytale book, then the bedroom door behind her.

Playing with her plush owl, Liz could hear the adults talk in the office.

“You… wanted to see me?” She sounded almost anxious, as though she was afraid of being told about another attack.

“Indeed.” Snape. “We need to talk about… you know… what happened on the Astronomy Tower.”

“Nothing happened, as far as I recall.”

“But it could have.”

What were they talking about, for Merlin’s sake?

“Could have, yes.” A drawer in Minerva’s desk was opened. Probably she was taking out her keys or something.

“You basically asked me to kiss you,” Snape corrected. How interesting.

“Only because you looked at me like you wanted to!”

He sighed. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Well, _I_ don’t usually go out with colleagues,” Minerva said slightly snootily.

“Neither do I. But you’ve got to admit that it’s strange to think about – we’re flirting, then fighting, duelling, parenting, having midnight conversations like we were thirty years married… Like, what are we? Teachers, friends, parents, what else?” Parents. Liz figured he meant only Minerva – simply had to.

Minerva hesitated. “Do we have to discuss that now.”

“Yes, we do, because otherwise you’ll come up with excuses again like ‘it’s a moon night’ or ‘I’ve got lots of work to do’ or ‘I’m so drunk I won’t remember tomorrow’.”

Touché.

“Fair point.” Pause. “So, you don’t know.” Pause. Presumably nod from Snape. “Well, I don’t know either.” Presumably staring at the floor with crossed arms.

Loud exhale. Snape.

“Do you even know what romantic feelings are.” Minerva, sarcastic.

“Please, let us not have that fight again.”

“You call it a fight, I call it a discussion based on facts.”

“What do I have to do to make you stop talking, Min?”

“Kiss me, if you dare.”

“Sure.” This single word contained an amount of sarcasm that Liz could only dream of.

“You know, I could open that closet and choose a bottle of Firewhisky and we could fall asleep on that sofa and forget that we ever had this conversation…”

“And give your daughter an opportunity to shoot blackmail photos.” Damn. “Min, you’re running away from your problems.”

“What, I’ve got problems? _You’ve_ got problems!”

Now, Liz had heard enough. If nobody stopped them, they would go on like this until dawn without getting to an agreement.

“It’s called comfort, you masterminds!” she called from the doorstep. “You’re just fucking comfortable around each other! And now I’d like to go on with crying my eyes out!”

Right after slamming the door behind her, she heard the professors burst into laughter. “Astronomy Tower?” Snape asked when the laughter ended.

“Only if I may take my cloak on.” She might, and they left the office, leaving Liz alone with a The Bangles tape she didn’t want to listen to, and a Michael Jackson tape on the shelf she couldn't reach.

Eventually, Liz did listen to the tape Minerva had put on the bedside table for her – but only after she had put her life on the line climbing up the shelves to get the Michael Jackson tape. And got it. And listened to it twice.

* * *

When the Christmas holidays begun, Miranda had still not returned from her ‘holidays’ – probably a trip through Scotland’s cheapest inns, while she went to work every day and kept Aiolos at the riding school with the other horses. For the first time, Liz wanted to go home over Christmas but couldn't for known reasons, whereas Draco could have, but had decided to stay at Hogwarts.

Christmas dinner was terrific as always, even though Liz knew she had to pack her bags for a few days with Minerva’s family afterwards. She had not changed her mind about them, but she wanted to be out of the castle for a while, and three days with the McGonagalls was all she would get. Besides, staying at home would mean three days without Minerva. Without Lockhart, who had gone home for the holidays, too – but still.

“You can talk to _me!_ ” Draco pointed out when they met after dinner. “That should be worth staying.”

“I can talk to you when I come back,” Liz waved him off. “I’ve got to go and pack now.”

“At least look at this.” He showed her a newspaper cutting as they were walking towards Minerva’s office.

**Inquiry at the Ministry of Magic** was the headline.  It was an article about the bewitched car that Ron had taken from his father – Mr Weasley had had to pay fifty Galleons, and of course Mr Malfoy was bitching about him again.

“Now, what do you say?”

Liz had nothing against the Malfoys, nor against the Weasleys. “I say, you should refrain from bewitching muggle things,” she retorted. “Don’t want to know how many illegal items you store at the Manor  that they didn’t find last week.”

Draco grinned. “Indeed.” When Liz went into the bedroom and started taking dresses and petticoats out of the wardrobe, he sat  down on her bed. “ And you really don’t know how to open the Chamber? I think Father knows, but he won’t tell me anything.”

She rolled up a pair of woollen tights. “I wouldn’t tell you either, if I knew. Not you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you only have about half my sense, and I’m not even a sensible person. Oh, and as far as I know, Heirs of Slytherin are the only ones who can open the Chamber at all. _You_ are not a Slytherin.”

This moment, Minerva came out of the bathroom. “Draco Lucius Severus Malfoy,” she said coldly, her choice of words announcing danger. Liz suppressed a snicker – Minerva would have a hard time trying to make her name that long. “Get out of my bedroom if you want to go back home alive. Thank you.”

Draco got immediately up from the bed and left the room, only his “Yes, Ma’am” sounded a little annoyed.  A little…  _very_ annoyed. 

* * *

Their arrival at the McGonagalls’ family meeting was not as bad as Liz had feared. “Oh,” said the woman who opened the door surprisedly. “You brought Elizabeth.”

“Hello, Juliet,” Minerva sighed. “Yes, after you spent the last five years asking me to bring her around, I finally did.”

“Oh. Well. Kid, you look…”

“… stunning,” a boy who was standing in the hallway completed the sentence. “Sorry,” he quickly added when he saw Liz’s and the woman’s faces.

“You look so much better than we imagined you!” A girl, probably the boy’s sister, made her way to the door. “After all that Mum told us about you, we thought you must be kind of a skeleton with dark circles around your eyes. Ow!” Juliet, who obviously was the two teenagers’ mother, had slapped her in the face.

Minerva shook her head. “So good to have cousins,” she murmured to Liz. “Always remind you of how you don’t want to be.”

“Anyway, dinner should be ready in a few minutes,” the girl said as Liz took off her shoes, and the boy added: “You can help set the table.”

“Course. I’m the Master of Dishes,” Liz stated.

“More like the Master of Disaster,” Minerva muttered, moving on to the living room. Liz watched her embrace a few more cousins – or whatever kind of relatives they were.

“Still teaching, are you? Guess you heard about the incident with that muggle car?”

“Actually, it was crashed into a tree by two of my Gryffindor scholars. Embarrassing story.”

“Minnie, you _have_ to try the dessert I made! After the main course, I mean.”

“I’m afraid I already had dinner at home, as every year…”

“I know, but you have to at least try!”

When everybody was seated at the table in the dining room, the cousins watched Minerva curiously. “And again, it is the question…” one of them said in a mysterious voice.

“Is she going to eat… or not eat?” someone else went on.

Minerva slightly blushed at the question. “Well,” she considered – precisely, pretended to consider, while a mischievous grin sneaked into her face. “As you know, I have already eaten… but I would think I can have some more.”

Liz nodded, agreeing. “Well spoken.”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “ _You_ just spent an hour eating half your own weight of turkey. You can have a cup of tea and a bit of dessert.” 

At the words ‘a cup of tea’, a few younger children’s eyes suddenly were bright with expectation. “Can you do that with magic?”

“Don’t have to,” Liz waved it off. “I’ll do it myself. Tastes better anyway.”

The kids looked deeply disappointed – the better part of the McGonagall clan were muggles, after all. “I can clean the dishes with magic later,” Minerva tried to solace. “That’s far more interesting than making water boil.”

“Pray tell me, Minerva,” Juliet begun while shovelling mashed potatoes onto her plate, “why can’t your daughter decide herself how much she wants to eat?”

Minerva took a deep breath. “I’m not saying that because I think anyone in here is bad at cooking. Well, actually… whatever. Did you know there are fish that don’t know when they had enough food? You can easily kill them by feeding them too much, and I believe eating too much isn’t good for humans either.”

“I am not a fish!” Liz threw in from the kitchen.

“I didn’t say you were a fish, I merely stated that you should stop eating at some point. And you’re not a mole, as far as I know.”

“Those mashed potatoes are fantastic,” someone else said.

“The moles destroyed my whole garden,” a cousin lamented. “My lawn is ruined.”

“Mary mashed them.”

“Yes, they call me the Potato Goddess.”

“Did you know that there’s a Greek goddess for lettuce? Aphrodite, I think.”

“What on earth has Aphrodite to do with moles?”

“I never said she had anything to do with moles.”

* * *

When she lay in bed that night, Minerva was very satisfied with herself. Juliet was revealed as a storytelling idiot, she had proven her parenting skills and the children had been excited about how she had washed the dishes. Liz, who was practically lying on her because Minerva’s old bedroom was too small and the bed too slim, had been treated surprisingly polite by everyone. Probably they were all stunned by the fact that she was not a hospital-boundzombie but a completely normal person. And Miri – well, she was most likely celebrating with her friends, the fifth year in a row.

At the rumble of thunder, Liz twitched and opened her eyes to look around herself frightenedly. “I’m here,” Minerva told her. “And the window is closed.”

“That’s good,” she murmured, half asleep. “Promise you’ll never go away.”

Minerva involuntarily had to smile. Liz’s half-awake conversations were simply the best. “I promise.”

“Mmh.” Huddling against her, Liz fell asleep again. Minerva didn’t.

She felt like something was missing. Somehow, in some weird kind of way, she missed her other daughter. That was insofar unusual as she didn’t usually _miss_ Miri; she was a grown-up woman, had always been rather independent, quite the opposite of Liz. Yes, Minerva was worried about her, more frequently than she cared to admit, but she never had that feeling telling her the family picture was incomplete. Okay, almost never.

As the next lightning flashed across the sky, the doorknob turned, and Juliet’s daughter padded into the room. “Mum told me to look if the window is closed,” she said shyly.

Minerva sighed. “I should have known. Can you do me a favour, Mary?”

“Hm?”

“Can you tell your Mum that the window is open and Liz is sleeping on the floor without a pillow or blanket? Although it would be better if you tell her nothing at all.”

Mary nodded and shooed out. Minerva leant back into her pillows. Strange thing, she thought. Cousins. Why had the Lord chosen her and Juliet to be relatives at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calm down, she is thinking about the Creator.


	13. (Not so much) Christmas Mood

The next morning, Liz woke up early. At breakfast, she proved how fast and how much she could eat, confirming the correctness of Minerva’s educational measures last evening, before all the kids were sent out to play in the snow.

“You can build a snowman,” one of the mothers suggested before closing the door behind them.

Mary snorted. “A snowman. We’re not all five years old, you know.”

“We can build a snow _Minerva,_ if we want!” her brother went on.

Liz snickered. “And a snow Juliet,” she demanded. “If we do it, let’s do it right.”

They had lots of fun building both a snow Minerva and a snow Juliet in less than two hours, while the smaller children were playing around them. Liz’s clothes hadn’t got any warmer since last year, but it made a huge difference whether you just stood around or built sculptures out of snow.

It was only when they went back in that Liz realised she was dripping wet. Minerva looked at the teenagers, hands cramped around a piece of parchment, as though she didn’t really see them,  and laid her eyes back onto the parchment.  Liz blamed it on the puddles of molten snow they were leaving on the floor, murmured an excuse and stepped out of the front door again to take off her shoes and everything wet. It was cold out there, especially if you stood there on socks, but Minerva was right, water stains were bad for the floor covering. When Liz went into the living room, her hair now the only wet thing left, her mum was still looking at the parchment. The girl stepped behind her to read the letter, but before she could get past the first line (just ‘Minerva –’ in Snape’s handwriting), Minerva folded the parchment and pocketed it.

“Miri got petrified,” she said flatly.

“She got _what?!_ ”

“Turned to a statue by Slytherin’s monster,” Minerva explicated. “Last night, apparently. The first victim to be caught smiling.”

“Well, the last one doesn’t really surprise me.” Liz’s wet hair left a damp stain on Minerva’s dress, but seemingly she didn’t care.

“You could pretend you haven’t received the letter yet and stay a little longer,” Juliet suggested, helpful as always.

“Counter question – if you received message of your child being in hospital, would you pretend you haven’t got the letter?” Minerva asked tiredly.

Juliet’s children looked at their mother horrified. “Mum!”

Minerva shook her head and handed Liz the parchment. “You can read it, if you want. I’m getting our stuff; we can leave in a quarter of an hour.”

_Minerva –_

_I’m writing to tell you that your daughter Miranda returned from her holidays last night. Unfortunately, she seems to have met the other Heir of Slytherin – I found her petrified on a corridor this morning. Looks like she was smiling at Slytherin’s monster. Bad tactics, if you ask me. You might want to come home as soon as possible._

_I dare say I feel sorry for you, but please don’t take it as a confession – it was not my fault this time. You know it wasn’t._

_Severus_

* * *

Miri was lying on a bed in the infirmary. Without a blanket – this would have been cruel in an odd way, trying to pretend she was a breathing, living patient and not a statue of flesh and bones. She was smiling, one hand raised to play with her hair, several top and bottom buttons of her blouse unbuttoned. Provokingly beautiful as always, except for the omnipresent spark in her eyes. Her eyes were the ones of a statue; cold, dead.

“It’s not dangerous,” Madam Pomfrey assured. “Her life has been stopped for a while, but when the mandrakes are ready, she’ll live on like nothing had happened.”

Facts that Minerva should have known herself, but at the moment you probably couldn't demand her to think logically. “Will,” she repeated doubtingly. Although she had never doubted the chances of healing when the other victims had got petrified, Liz thought. An attack probably appeared more serious if the attacked person was your child.

“Is going to. She just can’t do anything at the moment.”

Liz could not suppress a chuckle at that stoic remark. “Punished for her crimes,” she joked. Which was a decidedly bad idea.

“Elizabeth. Slytherin. North,” Minerva said slowly. Oh-oh… dangerous choice of words. “Look at me!”

Liz did.

“You are not going to make jokes about Slytherin’s monster ever again.” _Or else._

“No, Ma’am.”

“Nor about the Chamber of Secrets.”

Liz shook her head. “Nor about the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Go and tell Draco you’re back.”

“Maybe I don’t want to –”

“You go.”

Liz lowered her gaze. “Yes, Ma’am.”

* * *

“But why her?” Liz asked for the hundredth time. “Why did they take her? I just don’t get it! Like, her blood’s not exactly pure, but it’s the most magical blood I know!”

Draco threw her a sceptical side glance. “Are you complimenting your own blood?”

“No! I mean… maybe. I just don’t get why the Heir of Slytherin would try to kill my harmless non-parsel sister, who is absolutely no competition for him or her.”

“Maybe he thought it was you,” Draco suggested. “Or she. You look a lot like your sister.”

“Possible.” Liz buried her face in the sleeve of Draco’s fur coat. “Why do you have such a warm coat and I don’t? That’s unfair.”

“It’s a cloak,” he corrected her. “Not a cloak. Why do we have to sit in a freezing alcove at all? We could as well sit in the Slytherin common room at the fireplace, you know.”

“I dun like your common room,” Liz muttered. “It’s in the freakish dungeons, you know.”

“What’s freakish about the dungeons?”

“Anything is freakish. And it’s even colder down there.”

“It’s not.”

“I checked on the thermometer!” Liz insisted. “It _is_ colder than here!”

“Well, if you say so…” Draco mumbled. “Okay with me, I guess.”

They sat silent for a while, until Liz remembered something. “Are you allowed to ask about Azkaban at home?” she asked all of a sudden.

He shrugged. “I don’t even know,” he said nonchalantly. “But I wouldn’t dare ask anyway – staying out of there cost my parents a fortune. You know, they’re not as rich as they used to be.” Liz was not going to ask how much they had left, but Draco told it to her anyway. “We live on the same amount of money as the Weasleys,” he said. “Only that they are seven people and we’re only three.”

Liz snorted. “Compared to the Weasleys, I’m poor. Compared to pretty much everyone, if you think about it. Fuck, I’d sell myself for a new coat.”

“You mean, you would trade your soul?”

“Not my soul. My body.” She threw him a glance as though to say: ‘What did _you_ expect?’ “My sister does it all the time, and her lovers get her anything she wants.”

Draco looked at her in shock. “You’re _thirteen!_ ”

“Yeah? Old enough for certain people.”

“Don’t you think you should save your pocket money for a coat instead?”

“Are you mental?!” She snapped her fingers in front of Draco’s face, making him flinch. “The only pocket money I get is when Dumbledore makes me carry empty bottles back to the Three Broomsticks and lets me keep the deposit. That’s nothing one could make a living from.”

He sighed. “Let’s change the subject. What presents did you get for Christmas?”

“Presents?” Liz frowned. “Actually, I… think I didn’t look yet.”

“Seriously?”

“No, really, I think… I didn’t look.”

“It’s the 26th of December and you don’t know what you got for Christmas? What kind of a person are you?” Draco called after her as Liz left the alcove and headed for the Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

Indeed, she had got presents. Nothing from Miri, of course – she hadn’t bothered to get her anything either. Therefore no scarf, not to mention a coat.

A new ribbon from the Weasley twins, appearing black in the daylight but glowing red in the dark, and a note: _The Hand of Glory_ _didn’t exactly meet our budget, but we found this instead. Don’t lose your way when you explore the next secret chamber!_

A fluffy, oversized pullover from herself that she had bought incredibly cheap in a French second-hand shop last summer – Liz had forgotten about that one, so it felt like a present, too.

A skirt from Minerva, looking like she had sewn it out of the old curtains from the library that Liz had loved as a small child. She had been able to just look at them for hours, marvelling at the pattern, the colours, everything – much to Miri’s pleasure, who had wanted to study in peace while looking after her sister. During the last summer holidays, the curtains had been replaced by new ones, but apparently Minerva had saved some of them.

A box of sweets from Professor Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick; the sweets were the same as last year, but this time Professor Trelawney’s name was missing. Interesting. It looked like last year’s theory had been right.

And a note from Snape: _No shoes this year – your old ones will do another year or two, and you don’t seem to grow out of them. Would you like Occlumency/Legilimency lessons as a Christmas present instead? On 1_ _st_ _of January, I will see how far you are and when we can start with Legilimency. PS: Don’t mean to put you under pressure. If you don’t want to learn it yet, tell me._

Don’t want to learn? Ha. Learning was exactly what Liz needed, to be smarter than her sister, smarter than Draco, smarter than anyone. She wanted to become the greatest witch of all time, the most competent, best-looking, most wolfish witch the world had ever heard of. No more ugly duckling. All the young men would scramble to marry her.

She scribbled something on the back side of Snape’s note and called a house elf to bring him the letter.

_I want to learn. Occlumency, Legilimency, Potions. Teach me everything you know._


	14. Venemosa Tentacula

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, male readers! I highly recommend this chapter to you, as it deals with… uh… ladies’ problems. No bloody details, though. You can read it.
> 
> To the female readers: A certain someone is feeling particularly bad in this chapter, so please don’t read it when you’re feeling unhappy. I planned out the chapter while on my period – it was painful.

28th of December was officially the worst day of the year, Minerva decided when she dragged herself to the staff room after lunch. She was used to occasional cramps during her menstruation, but this time it felt like she was slowly being stabbed and God refused to let her die. Or something similarly cruel. She had not even had enough energy to deal with stubborn hair pins; instead she had attended breakfast with the messy plait she had slept on all night. Albus had taken her lessons, as she could not possibly have stood in front of a class for several minutes straight, and she had only managed to mark four whole essays while lying on the sofa and trying to kill time. Letting the scholars practise on their own and transform into a cat during the lessons would have been more pleasant but extremely unreasonable: Since cats didn’t menstruate, she needed to suffer through it in human shape in order to stay healthy.

The first one to meet in the staff room was – Lockhart, of all. “Not feeling well today?” he asked pitifully. “Tell me if you need something, I’d be happy to help you with –”

“No, thank you, I’m good,” she cut him short. “Don’t you have lessons to prepare?”

Thankfully, he eagerly agreed and hurried out of the room. With a moan, Minerva let herself fall onto the next sofa, just before the first group of teachers came in: Hooch, Aurora, Sybill, Severus. _Severus._ Now, after she had painfully survived half of the day, he eventually showed up. Idiot.

“So bad?” he asked as he saw Minerva huddled up on the sofa, other than Lockhart more worried about her than himself, but she only shot him an icy stare. “Get lost and let me die in peace.”

“I know something that could help,” Severus begun.

Hooch grinned and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Me too.”

“Actually, I was talking about painkillers, but your suggestion is not so bad either…”

Minerva pierced Hooch with her gaze. “Don’t even _think_ about it. I feel like there’s a Venemosa Tentacula tearing me up from inside.”

Severus’s cough sounded suspiciously like ‘Vagina dentata’.

“Fuck you.”

“Venemosa Tentacula, you said?” Now even Sybill was whirring around the sofa and jangling with her bangles.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I see… I see…”

“I see that someone else than me is going to die, if you don’t immediately shut up.”

Aurora handed Minerva the hot-water bottle that was always lying in the staff room for teachers with cold feet. Ironically, Aurora as the youngest teacher was the only one to ever use it. “You know that’s all psychosomatic,” she said carefully.

“You know you’re not being helpful, young lady? Thank you.”

Finally, the headmaster entered the room – Minerva had to pull herself together to not toss him a friendly ‘Screw you’ as well. When Albus started talking about the weather, Severus sat down on the sofa next to her. The next moment, there was a hand on her back. Minerva leaned into the touch. She loved that simple gesture more than she would ever admit – it was similar to Liz’s affection to the library curtains, only that she couldn't just make a sweater out of it and wear it all day.

“Don’t you have chairs in Africa?” Severus snatched at Aurora, who perched on the armrest.

“I like the sofa, thank you very much.”

Minerva sighed. “Do we really need this discussion every day?”

“No, if she would sit on a chair like any normal person,” Severus grumbled.

“No, if you would just let me sit where I like!” Aurora complained. “Maybe I want to sit with you? Maybe I want to sit on the sofa, since I don’t have one in my quarters?”

Minerva felt her uterus painfully clench. “Well, that’s your own fault,” she muttered.

“I know, but it’s getting on my nerves that you two are always occupying the sofa like a fifth year couple!”

“We aren’t fifth years, Aurora. And we are no couple.”

“Then stop acting like it!”

“We do _not_ act like it,” Severus said quietly. “I would never try to kiss her senseless in a broom closet.”

“I would hope so.” Groaning, Minerva unfolded her aching limbs. “Anyway, I’m going to bed.”

“Want me to bring the painkiller?”

“Please do.”

* * *

When Severus came to Minerva’s flat in the evening, she was sleeping – torso propped against a pile of cushions, glasses on, a copy of the Witch Weekly on the blanket. Severus noticed she was still wearing her tartan robes. “Heya, Min,” he said, sitting down on the edge of her bed and causing her to open her eyes. “I didn’t know you sleep with your glasses on.”

“Oh, that comes in useful when I’m trying to read the newspaper while sleepwalking,” she replied, smiling.

“You’re reading the Witch Weekly?”

“Miri does. Says she feels like a muggle if she doesn’t read magical magazines every now and then.”

Severus nodded. “Sounds logical.” He pointed at the slice of cake he had brought from the Great Hall. “You missed dinner, and I thought I could at least bring you some dessert.”

“That’s nice.” Minerva took the plate and started eating. “Did you let Aurora sit on the sofa when I was gone?”

“Who do you think I am? Of course I did. Didn’t want you to look like a fifth year.”

“Me. Yes, of course.”

“Of course. I think she blushed when Dumbledore said she was taking your place, but I have no idea why.”

“Nooo, no idea…” Minerva carefully avoided meeting Severus’s gaze while trying not to laugh. “Anything else worth mentioning?”

“Well, Dumbledore stated that cramps of any kind couldn't possibly be as bad as you pretended.”

“Let me guess – you started a heated discussion about why women always have to exaggerate.”

“No, I told him that he probably never had some himself. Neither tried polyjuice or had a food poisoning.”

“Awww.” She turned her head to look at him – and Severus had not the faintest idea _how_ she looked at him, because her glasses mirrored himself now.

“I told you I’m a nice person. Let me just…” He reached out and removed her glasses to store them in his pocket. Minerva raised her eyebrows questioningly. “Reflection,” he explained. “I’d like to see your eyes, even though I know how they look.”

Minerva chuckled. “How?”

“Tired,” Severus said diplomatically. “Beautiful. Curiously.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know that.”

“Well,” he started a second try. Almost unconsciously, he took Minerva’s hand that was lying on the blanket. She didn’t draw back. “Your eyes look… intriguing. Sometimes intimidating. Inconceivably deep, if you take the time to look at them properly. No, seriously, don’t laugh. Beautiful colour, too.”

She rolled said beautiful eyes. “Every colour of eyes looks good.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Severus contradicted. “Have you never noticed how many people walk around with boring eyes?”

“You’re mean.”

“Not at all. You know, when people look at Dumbledore, they immediately know he’s a wise man.”

“Yes…?”

“And when they look at Liz, they notice she’s got a lot of potential for whatever she chooses to do. Same with Miranda, only she is obviously using her potential for… you know what. And when they look at you, they’re probably like: Whoa, that girl is damn attractive – and I don’t even know her!”

“And that’s what eyes do.” She didn’t sound convinced. A real shame, since everything he had told her was true. As far as he knew.

“Yes, that’s what eyes do. And why you wouldn’t get any more dates if you would lose your eyesight.”

“Lost my eyesight, stopped laughing, didn’t wash my hair and dressed completely black, you wanted to say.”

“Now you’re being mean.”

“Possible. Can you… thanks.”

Severus stood up to let her get out of bed and to the bathroom. “Don’t deny it, I know you’re going to look at your eyes in the mirror!

By the time Minerva came out of the bathroom again, Liz had come home, brought the empty plate to the kitchen and was back in the bedroom. Somehow she had mastered to move through the castle faster than Filch himself.

As the bathroom door shut behind Liz, Minerva let herself fall onto her bed head first. Severus admired the way her nightgown still covered her ankles decently without her trying.

“My spine feels like it’s broken at least two times,” she lamented.

Severus traced her spine with his fingers – didn’t feel broken, just like expected. “Poor you,” he said ironically. “I’ll pity you if I find the time. But not now.” He got up to leave the flat.

Minerva made a pleading face. “No. Stay.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Liz walked out of the bathroom, pulling her Christmas sweater from last year over her sleeveless nightgown. “Just do her the little favour, no one will know.”

Two pleading faces now, four eyes of people he didn’t want to disappoint. “Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Not really, no.” Liz barely waited for him to take his cloak off before she switched off the lights and walked against her bedpost in the dark. “Ow!”

  
  


Severus had been planning to leave as soon as Minerva and Liz would be sleeping. Unfortunately, he was the first to fall asleep.

When he woke up, it was ten to five in the morning. Liz tossed around in her bed, murmuring ‘chase’ and ‘unicorn’ and ‘faster’. Minerva was lying next to him, face towards the wall. She didn’t move a muscle when Severus quietly got up and took his shoes and cloak.

Lucky, he didn’t meet anyone on his way to the dungeons.

* * *

When Minerva went to the Great Hall in the morning, the first thing Severus did was returning her glasses. “You forgot those,” he said airily.

Minerva saw Aurora frown next to her. “Forgot them in your pocket, you mean?” she quickly answered. “Nice try, but it takes more than running off with my glasses to keep me in my office.”

“I assume you’re going to teach, then?” Albus asked, looking at the black vitreous hair clasp she wore instead of her usual bun. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with staying at home a little longer.”

“How come?” Severus muttered sarcastically. “We will never know.”

“Give me another day to catch up with my paperwork,” Minerva said, snickering. “Tomorrow I’ll be teaching again… sorry…” She unfolded the Daily Prophet that Severus handed her to hide her laughter.

“You’re mental,” Aurora whispered. “Did you really…”

“I am not out of my mind,” Severus replied calmly. “Nor did I try to endanger the headmaster’s life, thank you very much.”

“But you –”

“I don’t know what you mean, Aurora.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to tell you this will be the last chapter for now - of course the story isn't finished yet, the series will go on until Liz's graduation (and, if you want, until the "cursed child"). But at the moment, school is taking all the time I used to spend writing, so I really can't add more chapters as quickly as I want to.  
> When I'm having more free time, I'll start posting again.


	15. Of Love and Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annnd I'm back!  
> (And with me, my bad English. Hem, hem.)
> 
> Let's be honest, I just finished this. One. Single. Chapter and nothing more. School and NaNoWriMo in November just hit me in the face when I told them about my plans for Liz, and since I'm preparing for my A-Level next summer, I figure in case of doubt, school comes first.
> 
> Anyway, I'm back, and I promise there are going to be more chapters. I... just don't know yet when I am going to finish them.

New Year’s Eve meant Minerva getting drunk in the afternoon, Snape and Professor Sinistra still dragging her along to the Three Broomsticks in the evening, and Liz staying at home and cleaning the kitchen because she was too young to go anywhere on her own. In the end, she stole a sip of whisky from Minerva, drank it with tap water – much, much tap water – and went to bed at half past eleven.

Having drunk some anti-hangover potion the next morning, Minerva insisted she was experiencing the worst hangover of her life; not even the potion would help. Which could also have been because said potion was Liz’s first attempt at brewing and probably not as good as Snape’s usual results, but she was smart enough not to mention it.

Snape, of course, did not test Liz’s Occlumency skills right on the first day of January. “You’re already good,” he stated when he finally got around to it. “But not good enough. You wouldn’t be able to even start with Legilimency – I’ll test you again when the summer holidays have started.”

Over the weeks, things normalised. Liz’s extra blanket was stored on the highest shelf in the wardrobe; long skirts got replaced by jeans. Minerva quit drinking and Mr Kettleburn paid Miri a visit. The last one for now, as he said.

“Strange, isn’t it?” he said to Liz as she guided him to the Hospital Wing. “You’re convinced that she’s the one, and when she’s gone, you suddenly realise she wasn’t.”

Liz frowned. “Do I have to understand that theory?”

“Actually, she never was the right person for me,” he mused. “I just didn’t have the time to think about it properly. Why would I marry a woman who disapparates as soon as I need to talk to her?”

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re caught in a Marriage Law Fiction?” Liz muttered. “You know, those stories where people are forced to marry because of the low birth rate.”

“You think they would include people with lycantrophy?”

She shrugged. “Depends on the author.”

* * *

The mandrakes were growing up, as Professor Sprout said. Their acne got worse and worse – and so did Liz’s. When the school year had started, she had had nothing than a few blackheads, but now her face was starting to look like a mixture between moonscape and fly agaric, and she was sure that soon there would be no amount of powder being able to cover it up.

“I could go on birth control,” Liz considered when she had come to the conclusion that only hormones could help now. “There must be some pill that makes my skin better.”

“No, you can’t,” Minerva said when Liz asked her about the idea. “Those pills have been developed for humans. _You_ are not human.”

She got the same answer from Snape, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Sprout and even Hagrid. “You can use bubotuber pus,” Professor Sprout offered.

“Ever been tested by something non-human?” Liz doubted.

“Well – no,” the teacher admitted.

In the end, Liz saw no way but writing a letter to the only werewolf except her that was not a stranger nor lying in the Hospital Wing.

  
  


_Dear Remus –_

_honestly I don’t know how to address you, but Miri says it’s just Remus, so I hope it’s okay. I would have written earlier, but Minerva used to flip out when I say your name, so I have to write this letter secretly. (It’s risky to say the word ‘serious’, too. Sometimes I’m using ‘seriously’ instead – believe me, it’s hard if you can’t use adjectives.) It might hurt that I’m not contacting you because of your good character but because of your furry little problem – well, that’s the way it is. Maybe you know that I have to deal with such a furry problem myself, and on top of that I have to deal with the worst form of acne that was ever seen in this universe. There are hormone pills that would probably help, but I talked to my family and they all say I can’t go on birth control because I am “anything but human”. (That’s not fair since I AM human indeed.) They told me to use bubotuber pus instead although this disgusting stuff has only been tested by humans, too. So I wanted to ask you: Did you use bubotuber pus yourself? Is it suitable for you and me? Please answer quickly, I don’t want to hide underneath so much powder anymore._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Liz North_

  
  


The answer came sooner than she would have expected.

  
  


_Dear Liz!_

_First things first, Remus is perfectly okay and there is no need for ‘yours sincerely’. I understand that Minnie doesn’t want to talk about the past, it wasn’t all that nice back then, but since I don’t know how much they told you, I’m not going into it. Of course it would be more pleasant if you had contacted me earlier and not only because you need help, but, as you wrote, that’s the way it is. I appreciate the fact that you asked me and not Madam Pomfrey or some staff from St. Mungo’s, by the way. Yes, I did use bubotuber pus, and yes, it did help a lot. No, it’s not dangerous for you. (I never suffered from the universe’s worst form of acne, though.) I guess you mean the teachers when you talk about your family – under these circumstances I think you want me to picture you looking like Miranda rather than your mother. If that isn’t accurate, feel free to send me a picture. If it is, you can still send me one. Anyway, your family is right with telling you not to take those pills. No one should be taking hormones just because of skin problems, no matter what age or species. (Oh, and you sound very human to me. Just saying.) Throw away your powder compact and use bubotuber pus._

_Best wishes,_

_Remus_

* * *

To her own surprise, Liz’s acne disappeared within a day or two when she dared and used bubotuber pus for her skin care routine. She spent half an afternoon rolling on the floor laughing when she thought about the life of a mandrake, getting on the nerves of literally everyone passing by.

Soon, none of the staff thought too much about the petrified scholars, ghost and cat. It was like they had simply moved out, somewhere too near to worry about and too far to get any news from them. Liz couldn't sleep very well on her own, but since she did parts of her studying during Defence and Miri couldn't do anything to annoy Minerva, her mornings and evenings got much more relaxed in general. Lockhart and the Young Teachers Society got on surprisingly well together – since Lockhart had walked into Minerva and Snape duelling, he made sure to stay away from them, and Professor Sinistra was with her colleagues all the time.

It was not until 14th February that Liz realised Lockhart had more influence than they all had thought. When she entered the Great Hall this morning, the first thing she noticed was the confetti raining from somewhere above. The second thing that struck her were the owls flying around – they were early today, and much more of them than usual. The huge flowers on the walls and Lockhart’s pink robes were just icing on the cake.

Liz grew an umbrella from her wand, immediately getting a “No magic on the corridors!” from one of the Prefects.

“Are you trying to tell me you’re having breakfast on the corridor?” she retorted, but the Prefect had already turned away, distracted by a letter. “What’s wrong with them all?” Liz asked Madam Hooch, who came into the Hall behind her.

The Flying instructor smirked. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” she said, picking pieces of confetti from Liz’s hair.

“Oh,” Liz said. “Right. That would explain a lot.”

Known as a former professional and a nearly-professional Quidditch player, Madam Hooch and Minerva could paper the walls of their offices with all the love letters they got from the scholars. Liz knew about this because they used to make fun of it – nobody else was allowed to read those letters, however. “Don’t want you to go and wind them up,” Minerva used to say. Neither of them would ever admit that they secretly enjoyed being their scholars’ crush.

Madam Hooch sat down at the staff table and was welcomed by not less than three owls, each one carrying an envelope without a sender’s address. Liz went over to her mum, who was sitting next to Snape, who was sitting next to the headmaster. “Great way to start your day, isn’t it?” she said sarcastically.

“Indeed,” Minerva replied when a folded piece of parchment hit her in the face. “Twenty-one.”

Snape handed her another sheet of paper. “Twenty-two,” he said. “Does anyone want to place a bet on the final number?”

“I figure it will be something around fifty in the evening,” Liz said. “I mean, last year it was more, but this year we got Lockhart.”

“Don’t you dare compare anyone here to Lockhart.”

“I’m not comparing at all; I’m just saying he’s taking all the parchments in the world for his autographs. No parchment – no love letter.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lockhart shouted before Minerva could contradict. “And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all – and it doesn't end here!”

“Kill me,” Snape murmured.

“Then who’s gon help me survive the year?” Minerva replied in a low voice.

“My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” Lockhart beamed as a dozen dwarfs with gold wings and harps marched in. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here!”

“Still?” Madam Hooch muttered from her seat, loud enough for everyone to hear it.

“I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion!”

“Is it very evil if we feed him some poison in the name of Valentine’s spirit?” Snape whispered.

“Severus!” Minerva shook her head.

“Yes, but we can still hope he falls down the stairs and dies,” Liz murmured.

“Liz!”

“Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!”

“Love Potions,” Snape repeated. “Lizzie?” 

“Love Potions are nothing more than liquid Imperius curses, often mixed with colourants or alcohol. You can bake them into cake or literally just any kind of food, often sweets, and give them to the person you want to fall in love. Falling, however, is not the same as loving, which means Love Potions will never ever ever bring you love. There are personal potions as well as such that make you fall for the next person you meet or another person that is chosen somehow, but not already predicted when you drink the potion. They’re dangerous as heck and you should _stay the fuck away_ from them. Nobody knows what sick idiot legalised them. Did I forget anything important?”

“It’s not like that,” Minerva disagreed. “They’re not as dangerous.”

“They are,” Snape said seriously. “Please don’t tell me you ever used one.”

“She wouldn’t have needed any,” Madam Hooch’s voice came from behind. She took Professor Sinistra’s seat, which was still unoccupied. “It’s a good year for me, I think I’ll break my record from five years ago. Looks like all the Quidditch people are writing me to show that they don’t support you know who.”

Snape blinked slowly. “Excuse me?”

Minerva snickered. “The L-Word, you know.”

“L-Word,” Madam Hooch repeated. Then both her and Minerva broke into laughter.

Snape shook his head. “The only thing that is more unnerving than a woman is a queer woman,” he sighed. “Only God knows why we got to have two of them.” He looked to Liz, who had just received a letter with nothing more than the word “Lizzie” written on it.

She tore it to tiny pieces and threw them up in the air. “Confettiiii!”

“Don’t you want to know who sent the letter?” he asked frowning.

“Listen,” Liz said resolutely. “ _No one_ except you, Min and Miri calls me Lizzie and gets away with it. Better for them if I don’t know them.”

“Them?”

“Him or her.”


	16. Dating Advice

In the evening, the atmosphere in the staff room was really bad. Minerva and Hooch were in a good mood because their count of love letters was spiralling upwards, but they were by far the only ones. All the others were on the verge of either jumping off the Astronomy Tower themselves or pushing Lockhart off the edge.

After dinner, when all the teachers had come together in the staff room again, Lockhart stood up. “I’ve got an idea how we can let the day end as romantically as it begun!” he beamed. 

“Cool, as long as we let it end quickly,” Aurora muttered. She looked like Valentine’s Day had really taken it out of her.

“We’re writing love letters to each other, like we were doing a secret Santa!”

Minerva elbowed Severus – hard. “Sounds interesting,” she claimed.

“Great idea,” Severus confirmed, reacting immediately, and laid his arm around her waist. “If only Sunday wasn’t our date night…”

“Too bad,” Lockhart beamed. “But you know how the saying goes, cancelling a date night brings bad luck!”

Which was only one of quite a few lies being told on that evening. Not only that Minerva and Severus did not have a date night at all, Sunday also used to be the day when they spent half the night at the staff room and then went to bed alone, and nobody in the room had ever heard of Lockhart’s dubious saying. But they were lucky; Lockhart didn’t notice a thing.

“Good for you,” Aurora muttered. She collected her things and got up from the table she had been working at. “Think I’m going to bed early today. I’ve got a terrible headache.”

“You tell me if you need something?” Severus assured himself. “Just send me a note, I’m always available.”

Aurora looked at him tiredly, but to be honest, it seemed more like she was staring right through him. With a shake of her head she adjusted the pile of books she was carrying and left the room without further ado.

* * *

As Minerva realised with relief, the Hogshead looked as unwelcoming as ever. The pub was full with wizards and witches who needed to escape the cheesy Valentine’s Day decorations all over Hogsmeade. There was no single café left without pink table clothes and expensive Valentine’s specials, the Three Broomsticks were occupied by snogging couples, and Zonko sold love potions and love horoscopes.

At the Hogshead, however, the shelves were as dusty as ever. Aberforth Dumbledore was wiping the counter with the same old towel that he had used when Minerva had got to know him, and God knew it had not got any cleaner since then. “Good evening, professors,” he said when Minerva and Severus entered his pub and came to lean against the counter. “Same as always, I guess?”

Minerva grabbed the towel he had put down when he went to get them some cheap Firewhisky. “Tell me, when are you going to clean this place? On the day of your funeral?”

“Why choose such a sad occasion?” Aberforth replied, putting two glasses on the counter. “I’m going to do it on your wedding day.”

“Funny,” Severus growled. “You know exactly that woman will not get married to anyone as long as she keeps on choosing _me_ to be her date.”

“You may as well be a little more thankful after I just saved you from an evening with Lockhart,” Minerva huffed. “And by the way, I merely need you for plotting his murder.”

“That’s nothing but a poor prejudice!” Severus complained, the alcohol seemingly already taking effects. “Fantasizing about killing him a little more often than you do doesn’t make me an expert about murder.”

* * *

“What about strychnine?” Minerva asked over her fourth glass of Firewhisky. “Do you remember the Agatha Christie murder with that tonic or something?”

“Only how are you going to make him take restorers at all?” Severus mumbled. “No way the perfect Professor Lockhart is going to admit he needs medicine.”

“Mmh.” Minerva took a sip from her glass. “Make a better suggestion, then.” She reached for the end of her plait, that looked a tiny little bit dishevelled since she had just pulled the pins out of her bun and left the plait as it was.

“Snogging you in a closet of your choice, making Lockhart stopping by – by sheer chance, of course – and watching him die of shock,” Severus said. “I would have to make sacrifices for this plan, but in this special case, I would be willing to do it.”

Minerva shook her head. “I’m not sure I could live with the consequences if he survived,” she told him. “Of all your bad suggestions, this one is the worst.”

“Oh, don’t say that. You haven’t heard of the next idea yet.”

She snorted and let go of her plait.

“Don’t turn your head now, Minerva,” Aberforth said in a low voice. “Your… holiday girl has been staring at you for the better part of one and a half hours.”

Promptly, Minerva turned around, threw said girl a look that was difficult to describe and went back to her conversation with Severus.

“And… she’s blushing,” Aberforth commented, polishing a glass. “Cute, somehow.”

“Yes, blushing is one of her core competencies,” Minerva said casually. “Next to a few other things.”

“Who’s that girl?” Severus asked, now really curious. “Do I know her?”

“I would be surprised,” she said, taking another sip. “She works at Zonko’s and originally is from Ireland. I was just sitting at the Hogshead and trying to drown my problems in the cheapest spirits I could find…”

“During the holidays, that is,” Aberforth threw in.

“Of course during the holidays. Anyway, I was hanging around and minding my own business when she came by, and she wouldn’t stop flirting for all the gold lying around at Gringotts. So I thought to myself, well, do her the little favour and have some fun, forget about life for a few minutes…”

Severus raised his hand to interrupt her. “Nice. All right, we know how the story ends.”

“The strange thing is,” Minerva went on as if he had said nothing, “she insists on paying me every time. I never asked her for money, but, you know, if someone so desperately wants to get rid of their fortune…”

Severus stared into his glass as though he didn’t know what was wrong with the world. “You’re… an interesting person, Minerva.”

She snickered. “That’s what she said.”

Aberforth just shook his head and slid her the fifth glass.

* * *

When they made their way home, it was… late. Too late to know the exact time. Aurora, whose turn it was to do one of the night shifts, and Liz, who was busy managing mischief, sent them tired gazes and groaned: “Honestly, go to bed, guys.”

The next morning – or rather: the same morning? – Liz had to put up with Lockhart, who was in an awfully good mood. He even showed up in the kitchen, only to spread his newest rumours. “Did you know your mum and Professor Snape are dating?” he beamed at her.

Liz stirred a giant pan of bacon. “Wow, my parents are dating,” she muttered sarcastically, but Lockhart had already whirred on to get on the nerves of someone else. “What a discovery.” Actually, she _was_ surprised by the two of them dating, or better, she would have been – but as much as ‘parents’ was just a word she used to simplify speech, she knew that their ‘date’ had only been an excuse to get away from whatever event.

* * *

The evening was reserved for a family dinner at Minerva’s office; without Miri this time, but with Snape instead, who kind of belonged to their family dinners recently anyway. Liz got the feeling that he was glad about this coincidence because it was fish soup for dinner, but either way he had to sit next to Minerva, who would eat a whole tureen of soup on her own.

Somewhen, somehow, the conversation turned to the first years. “I spotted you flirting with Ginny today,” Snape said casually. “Any intentions?”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “Lizzie…?” It certainly wasn’t the first time Snape told her about one of the girls flirting to someone, but the first time she would react this way.

Liz stared into her plate of pasta, frowning. “I did _what?!_ ”

“Flirted with the nice read-haired girl who happens to be Ron Weasley’s sister,” Snape repeated. “I don’t really have to explain the definition of ‘flirting’ to you.”

A piece of tomato fell from Liz’s fork. “You must be wrong. Like, did I even talk to her today?”

“Lunch break,” he said shortly, apparently feeling increasingly unwell under Minerva’s gaze.

“Oh, right!” Liz remembered. “What’s wrong with you guys? I wasn’t flirting, I just tried to scare her a little bit by talking trash about Flitwick’s classes.”

Minerva put her spoon aside. “Could you please agree on one of the stories?”

“If it’s mine, yes,” they both said simultaneously.

Minerva sighed. “Liz – flirting is okay, but nothing further. Severus – ”

“Are you going to believe me or her?” Snape revolted.

“I don’t believe either of you, I just wanted to straighten a few basic things out,” Minerva made clear.

“Straighten out, first and foremost,” Liz muttered. “New topic, please.”

“The word you’re looking for is clarify,” Snape assisted.

Liz frowned. “Isn’t Claire that girl from Hogsmeade?”

“NEW TOPIC!”

* * *

When Snape had made his exit and Minerva was looking for one of her hair clasps once again, Liz sat on her bed and looked at her colourful knitted stockings. “What’s the problem with being gay?” she asked thoughtfully.

Minerva hit her head on a shelf that she was ducking under. “Ow! You’re seriously asking _me_ such a question?”

Liz shrugged. “Could ask Aurora as well, if you want me to give her a heart attack.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Minerva rubbed the top of her head. “So far, no one has died of blushing.” She went on searching in silence.

“Do I get an answer?” Liz asked impatiently. “What’s the problem? Like, 70 per cent of our staff are queer, no trouble with that, so why is everyone talking like it’s a catastrophe?”

“Look,” Minerva said, sitting on her heels. “When you’re asking me about problems and/or about being gay, you need to know that I’m technically not capable of giving you an objective answer. My knowledge about this topic is all subjective and biased as heck.”

Liz nodded. “Fine with me.”

Minerva scratched her head. “That’s getting harder than I thought,” she murmured to herself. “So, what exactly do you want to know?”

Liz didn’t know herself what she was asking about, but she did know that it was advisable to have a detailed question ready when it came to asking Minerva. “I don’t get what you adults are making such a fuss about,” she formulated carefully. “Dumbledore gazing after a young man – okay with you. Hooch dropping naughty comments about the new waitress at some café – okay with you. And I think we don’t have to talk about you and approximately every female individual within reach. Me talking to Ginny about school – the castle is literally burning! Why?!”

“You mean metaphorically.”

“I don’t want the right expression, I want answers!”

Minerva pushed the hair out of her face. “Because,” she said as carefully as if she was treading on ice, “all of the staff have been emotionally hurt at least once; when their friends became Death Eaters, when their brothers died, when their family constellation was crap even before the rise of You-Know-Who. And because you most certainly will be married somewhen. And because we do not like the idea of you having to end your relationship to a woman to get married to her brother. Do you understand what I mean?”

Liz bit her lip and grabbed a pillow to keep her hands busy. “Look at the Malfoys,” she said bitterly. “Works as a family. And don’t tell me that’s love.”

“Oh yes, it is,” Minerva replied softly.

Liz snorted. “Sure.”

“Was, at least.” She got up from the floor and sat on the bed next to her daughter. “You should have seen them when they were young.” Minerva paused before she added: “I’m still mad at Narcissa because she married that idiot of a pureblood.”

“Whom else should she have chosen, you?”

“I never said that.”

“Good for you. Because if she had, Draco wouldn’t exist and my entire childhood would have been exorbitantly boring.”

“Oh, another good point, thank you.”

“Mum!”

“Just joking.”

There was a long pause in which Minerva examined the tips of her hair, while Liz moved her feet in the colourful stockings and thought about everything and nothing. Eventually, she turned her head to Minerva (she had to look up because it was really frustrating how short she still was) and asked: “Would it bother you if I was into girls?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Minerva let go of her hair and pulled her feet onto the mattress. “It’s the same as with pumpkins.”

Liz stared at her, bewildered. “What.”

“You don’t like pumpkins, right? Which is perfectly okay, just like it’s okay that most people do like them. You can avoid daily doses of pumpkin juice, but there will be occasions when you have to endure the taste. You can go out with whoever you want and talk to your husband as little as you like, but on your wedding day you will have to meet him.”

“I mean, I’m used to your metaphors, but this one was by all means the worst of all.”

Groaning, Minerva got up from the bed and went back to her office. “Lower your niveau.”


	17. Natural Charisma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: _How to become as oblivious as possible._

Minerva marched into the staff room and slammed her hands on the table that Hooch and Lockhart were sitting at, each reading their magazines about Quidditch and cosmetics. “I’m done with counting!” she beamed. “Yes, it took its time, but now I’m done.”

Hooch looked up from her _Weekly Wizard Sports._ “You’re getting quicker,” she stated. “Last year, it took three weeks until you got around to it.”

Minerva’s gaze drifted into nowhere. “Yeah, the girls are growing up…”

The Flying instructor snatched the cosmetics magazine from Lockhart’s hand. “How many letters did you receive on Valentine’s day, forty-six?”

“Forty-eight, meanwhile,” he corrected her smiling. “Oh, they’re taking so much space in my desk drawers… but that’s a burden one learns to live with as a celebrity.”

“Forty-eight,” Minerva repeated. “Not bad for a first-timer. But don’t you think you could reach my final score of sixty-four next year?”

“Try getting over my seventy-two,” Hooch said dryly. “Just broke my own record of fifty-nine.”

Lockhart did not know where to look. Mumbling something of which he probably didn’t even know himself what it was supposed to mean, he grabbed his magazine and rushed out of the room.

“Don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Severus said, shaking his head. “He’s got a safe job with a nice office in one of the best schools in the world, surrounded by the hottest staff in the UK… honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

All the others laughed, except Albus, who calmly got up from his seat in front of the fireplace. Minerva froze. Had she gone too far? It had been his decision to hire Lockhart for Defence Against The Dark Arts, after all.

But the headmaster was merely heading for the door. Reaching for the doorknob, he turned to Minerva. “I trust that Liz didn’t forget our appointment?”

“Um… I… think she knows…” Minerva stammered. Whatever he was talking about, Liz had never told her.

* * *

Liz had waited in the headmaster’s office for over ten minutes when Professor Dumbledore finally came in – from outside, not from his flat.

“Take a seat,” he invited her, pointing at the chair in front of his desk and taking a seat behind it himself. “I think you remember our last meeting.”

Liz, who had been sitting on the floor until now, got to her feet. “Priorities, yes. Eternities ago. Is this going to be the sequel?”

“Well – no. Do you recall the memory we used to start your last lesson?”

Liz frowned. “Whoa. Hardly. As I said, it’s been eternities since then. I think it was something about a guy who wanted to ask someone else for a date?”

“Has it really been so long?” Professor Dumbledore wondered. “It felt like yesterday to me.”

Liz sent him a killing glance. “ _Last year._ I was bitching ‘bout the squirrel when I received your invitation.”

Professor Dumbledore put his fingertips together. “Well. You’re right, the memory was about a young man who asked the girl selling vegetables on the market for a date. I remember you complaining because I had chosen a dating instance of all. And this is the topic I am going to talk about. Dating.”

Liz wrinkled her nose. “You’ve had better transitions.”

He made a small gesture with his hand. “Some say this, some say that. Anyway. Dating. I was told you have received a letter without sender’s address on Valentine’s Day.”

Liz nodded.

“Further, I was told you tore it to pieces.”

Liz nodded again.

“Why?”

Liz crossed her arms. “Why not?”

The headmaster sighed. “Please.”

“All right.” She leant back in her chair. “First, I hadn’t asked for a letter. Second, there was no sender on the envelope. Third, it didn’t say _To Miss Elizabeth North_ or similar, but _Lizzie._ Nothing else. Pet name. There’s three and a half persons in the world who are allowed to call me pet names. One is lying in the Hospital Wing, two were sitting at the table next to me when the letter arrived, and the last one can’t have written it either because I know their handwriting. Why would I feel the urge to read a letter from an unidentified stranger, who has the nerve to skip the part where they call me by my name?”

Professor Dumbledore looked flabbergasted. “Because it’s Valentine’s Day and thus your chance on a date, and because everyone else is dating, as one would think?”

Liz gave him a pitying glance, like she was talking to a child. “Look,” she said slowly. “I’m living with two girls. Each with a dating history that would fill several meters of parchment. I’ve seen them dress up for a date a thousand times, full of expectations. I’ve heard them coming home in the middle of the night, serotonin and oxytocin and tons of other endorphins all over their blood circulation, too excited to sleep, convinced that they’d found The One.” She frowned. “Or a convenient occasion to have a little fun without emotional drama, it depends. But I’ve also seen them cry for hours when it turned out The One was rather one of The Hundred, or when they realised you can’t have an affair without emotional drama. I’ve seen them hectically count days on the calendar often enough. Yes, my sister lost her virginity at the age of thirteen, but she didn’t have a fulltime job next to school back then. And I don’t see why I should put so much stress on me, for nothing and nothing and nothing again.”

Professor Dumbledore was silent. “Sound arguments,” he then said, visibly impressed by Liz’s verve.

“And as if that weren’t enough of a reason, I further don’t know why anyone would want to date me anyway,” she added in a superior voice, placing the sole of her ballet shoe against the front wall of Professor Dumbledore’s desk and casually picking a green piece of thread of unknown origin from her jeans.

“Well, I think I do.”

“ _You?!_ ” Liz made such a doubting face that, if she had been a regular scholar, the headmaster would have had to take house points from Gryffindor. “Oh, never mind. What’s your theory?”

“Well. You have surely noticed how different your sister’s eyes look since she was petrified.”

“If different means dead, yes, yes I have.”

“I assume you have seen the other victims, too,” he went on. “Living _and_ petrified, I mean.”

She nodded. “Yeah, sure. Their eyes don’t look that different. Faces, I mean, do look dead, if you look at the whole thing, but their eyes don’t necessarily.”

“Exactly,” Professor Dumbledore said. “Do you have an idea what causes that difference?”

Liz shrugged. “I thought it was a personal thing.”

“Generally – yes. Yes, it depends on the person. In fact, many people have charisma, but in this special case it is caused by her lycantrophy.”

Liz was not sure if he was joking. Being one of the few pro-werewolf lycantrophiles who praised the advantages the illness brought with it, however, she was inclined to believe him.

“I call this the wolf-spirit,” he said calmly. “It is one of the few things that all the werewolves share. Not their proverbial loneliness, neither their self-consciousness or hunger for blood are things that reliably mark a werewolf. But the wolf-spirit does. Have you ever been wondering why you could find your sister so easily in the Great Hall or at an overcrowded train station?”

She shrugged again. “I thought it was the blood bond,” she said nonchalantly. “It’s the only one I have; how should I know what blood bonds are like?”

Professor Dumbledore smirked. “Usually you don’t even notice them,” he told her. “Blood is approximately the last thing that counts in life.”

“Which is not only the quintessence of my upbringing, but also the reason there’s a heated debate about blood status going on,” Liz said sarcastically with an evil smile. “I appreciate the thought behind that parenting strategy, but did you all really think I wouldn’t notice what happens outside Minerva’s office?”

The headmaster sighed. “Would you give me a summary of the lesson so far, please.”

“Uh, you were wondering why I don’t like dating, I came up with a few arguments and raised the question why anyone would want to date me, and instead of an answer you switched to the topic of wolf-spirit. Which is the charisma by which lycantrophiles recognise each other. And then, you made me doubt the legends about unimportant blood bonds I have been told all my life.” She looked up to him and said patiently: “You still owe me the answer to my question. Especially after you claimed to know it.”

“Well,” Professor Dumbledore begun, apparently wanting to give her time to find the answer herself. “Lemon drop?”

“The. Answer. Please.”

“Now, the wolf-spirit is the answer. It’s your charisma that makes the difference – together with your looks, your magical abilities, your sarcasm and of course with being a part of the Hogwarts family, a feature that makes you an exceedingly interesting person. But the charisma is what makes the greatest difference. It’s a natural gift. Your parents both have it, due to a series of serendipities. You and your sister have it, due to the lycantrophy. Elected Presidents, Prime Ministers, Dictators had it. Some of them managed to rule not only a county, but the whole country, or even half the world thanks to their charisma.”

“Julius Caesar?”

“I was thinking about Cleopatra, but yes.”

“Nice.” Liz got up from her chair. “Rule the world sounds like good closing words to me. Can I go now?”

Professor Dumbledore sighed again. Probably missing the times when Liz had been sitting in his office and listening to his lectures for hours – way back in primary school. “Sure.”

When Liz was about to step on the corridor, he called her back. “Liz, one question – ”

She turned her head towards him. “Yes?”

“Who is the third-and-a-half person who can call you pet names?”

Liz smiled mysteriously. “I was going to say some broke-ass pureblood you know, but since you think blood doesn’t matter, you’ll never find out.”

* * *

Making her way back to Minerva’s flat – which could be a damn _long_ way on some days – Liz started to sing _Under the Bridge_ by the Red Hot Chili Peppers on the empty corridors. Singing was, according to Miri, the only way of surviving in a spooky old castle if you weren’t spooky yourself at the moment. Being spooky without a reason was a little too exhausting in Liz’s mind, so singing it was.

“And I don’t ever wanna feel like I did that day, but take me to the place I love…” Suddenly there was a hissing noise coming from inside the wall Liz was walking along. She stopped. “Excuse me?”

 _“Slay… kill… need to kill… let me kill you…”_ something, or rather: som _one_ hissed in Parsel.

Liz sighed. Yes, they had a bug problem at Hogwarts. The cats did what they could to work against the invasion of rats and mice, but inside the walls were so many bugs, insects and also snakes that one could only hope they would eat each other and starve to death in the end. Or that the walls would remain stable until the castle would burn down some day, maybe that was the more realistic version.

 _“But you do realise that I could make soup of you with just a flick of my wrist,”_ she said indulgently. Most of the snakes she had seen in her life, and it had to be hundreds because the castle was really bursting with bugs, had been tiny, and none of them had been longer than she was tall. Which was… really, really short in Liz’s personal opinion. But it occurred every now and then that a few of the longer snakes got too big for their boots before coming to a bad end in the kitchen.

Hissing mortally offended, the snake made its exit – precisely: crept away along the wall, which Liz recognised by the hissing sounds that got quieter.

With a shake of her head, she went on and started to sing another song. She would have to tell somebody about the snakes, Liz thought for a second. But Snape would hardly go out to kill off bugs, Sir Cadogan was only a blotch of paint on canvas, and Filch would just ask her when the heck she thought he would find the time. Besides, all three of them knew the problem well enough.

In the end, it would be the easiest for all involved to say nothing – including the snakes.


	18. Unsuccessful Rebels

During the Easter holidays, the bugs and the dating issue became less important. Instead, the subjects she would choose for the next year were what kept Liz busy day and night. Choosing subjects was not easy for any of the scholars, neither for those who got too much advice from their wizard relatives nor for the muggleborns who did not get any advice. Your family consisting of teachers, however, took it to a whole new level.

“I dun wan’ dis,” Liz mumbled, face buried in the fabric of her skirt while her head was rested against her knees. She raised her head to look at Draco. “Why is everything so difficult?”

They were sitting beneath a tree at the lake, the ground around them covered with paper and parchment. Brochures and flyers that advertised various magical subjects, notes they had taken, letters from Draco’s relatives, even some wizards from the McGonagall clan had bothered to give Liz their advice.

“Life’s like this,” Draco said, shrugging. “We had an easy childhood, I guess it couldn’t last forever. Just imagine your mum being unemployed and the rest of our parents in Azkaban. Could have happened, right?”

“Oh, I trust you would have found someone,” Liz told him. “Like that black sheep, what was her name again… Andromeda?”

“Right,” he said thoughtfully. “She would have taken you, too. If Dumbledore had asked her, that is.”

“No, she wouldn’t have. And why should she? The only connection between me and your family is my – you know, Snape. Who would have ended up in Azkaban, as you said. And I have an older sister. So – assuming Dumbledore wouldn’t have given Min the year off and fired her instead – she probably would have got into trouble with those adoption people, and they would have taken Miri and me to an orphanage. Like… Voldemort himself, you know. I mean, most orphanages have improved since then, but still.”

Draco was silent. Then he asked: “Did You-Know-Who have a sister?”

“No, he didn’t have siblings. His mother died right after she could give him his name.” She stretched out on her back and looked up to the sky. “Tom like his father, Marvolo like his grandfather. I like to think about what would have happened if they had given him a different name. Wouldn’t be _Lord Voldemort_ then, right?”

“Possible. But I think he still would have turned evil.”

“No, I mean his name. He used the letters of his name to make the name ‘Lord Voldemort’, so it would be different if he had a different name in his passport.” Liz grinned. “My sister is named after Miranda from _The Tempest_ ,” she stated.

Draco frowned. “The what?”

“Famous Shakespeare drama. Not bad to get your name from one.” She hesitated for a moment. “I’m named after Liz Taylor.”

“That’s not bad either.”

Liz made a face. “Should I mention Laura hated Liz Taylor?”

“Oh.” Draco looked embarrassed. “Uh… do you two have middle names, by the way? I’m named after my father and my godfather… um… as you already know.”

“ _Elizabeth Laura Minerva Slytherin North_.” Liz brought one hand between her face and the sun, playing with the shadow. “Makes kind of a long name, don’t you think? I say we skip the ‘Laura’ part.” She snickered. “Nah… we don’t have middle names. Not even Miri. Strange thing.”

Draco sighed. “Let’s get back to our subjects. Otherwise, we’ll never finish this… thing.”

Groaning, Liz sat back up and crossed her legs. “I’d trade a lifetime of Transfiguration for a lifetime of Potions,” she said, like they were kids on the schoolyard trading sweets and sandwiches. 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Draco told her. “Why would anyone want to give up Potions?”

“Oh, I’m sure there is at least one lunatic in our year who would.”

“And who would take Transfiguration instead?”

Liz sighed. “In the end, it doesn’t really matter. I’m gonna teach Transfiguration until I’m dead, even if we could give up our old subjects. But, you know… it’s sooo tiring! For example, I’d like to take Arithmancy, it sounds interesting, but I surely won’t take Divination. On the other hand, Trelawney is like… uh… a crazy aunt of mine who will never ever get over it if I do not take her subject, while Professor Vector told me she’s perfectly okay with me not taking Arithmancy because she knows it’s not for everyone. And I really don’t see why I should take Care of Magical Creatures, I mean, I’m hanging out in the Forest all the time.” Draco did not know she was a lycantrophile – Liz wished he knew, but she was aware that the Malfoys knowing about her lycantrophy would mean the immediate end of her career. “But Sprout and Hagrid really talked me into it, rambling on and on about how fascinating magical plants and creatures are when I had merely tried to talk about the weather. Strange enough, since Hagrid doesn’t actually like me. Slytherin stuff, you can imagine. And I have nothing against Astronomy – but taking Ancient Runes is a chance I don’t want to miss! How often do you need Astronomy in your daily life, after all?”

Draco had listened to her monologue attentively. “You said nothing about Muggle Studies,” he commented dryly.

Liz let out a puff of air. “The thing with Muggle Studies is, you need a Muggle Studies degree to be allowed to teach. Those who have this degree are mostly purebloods – people whose parents are wizards, that is. And this means that there was no competent teacher for Muggle Studies in… a hundred years?”

“Your sister could teach Muggle Studies,” Draco threw in. “I saw her handling… some kind of muggle technology.”

“Phone,” Liz said shortly. “She’s making phone calls in the castle. No one knows how she makes it work. Yeah, but again: No Muggle Studies degree. I could do it and become the first good teacher in an eternity, but I want to teach Potions, excuse me.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said. “I was thinking about Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy and Ancient Runes, but I’m not sure yet. What about you?”

“Well, if I can get over Arithmancy and manage to get my parents and Trelawney off Divination, it’d be the same for me.” She snorted. “Jokes on me though, ‘cause Snape surely knows how to convince me of Divination, even if just for a short minute in which I fill and hand in the form.”

“Tell me when you know for sure. If you take Divination, I’ll take it too,” Draco offered.

“No, please, you don’t have to – ”

“Don’t worry, I was thinking about Divination anyway.”

Liz laughed, not believing him. “ _You_ wanted to take _Divination_? Of all?”

“Why not? I thought it sounded like a fun lesson. No essays, no attention, doing homework by just making something up…”

“Which is pretty much us in every single subject.”

“Divination is a subject, isn’t it?”

* * *

It was, of course, not Ancient Runes for Liz and Draco. One reproachful gaze from Minerva and another one from Snape had been enough to have both of them grab a pencil and tick Divination on their forms.

But, as Draco said, the show must go on, and the Saturday of the next Quidditch match arrived soon. It was Gryffindor against Hufflepuff.

Still, Liz was not very interested in Quidditch, and so, shortly before the match would begin, she made her way to the library. When everyone was at the Quidditch pitch, she thought, she would have plenty of time to look for a book about Occlumency and Legilimency. Snape’s repeated “you’re not good enough, I can’t teach you Legilimency” got on her nerves because even Severus Snape himself needed the better part of ten minutes to get into her mind by now, but she could not use dumb questions from the other scholars. And Legilimency couldn't be so difficult that she wouldn’t even be able to start from her current level, right?

But she would never reach the library. Well, at least not this morning. When Liz was walking along the last corridor before the library, singing _Don’t Stop Me Now_ by Queen and looking anywhere but on the floor, she suddenly tripped over something and landed right on her nose. The arm that had been broken after her broomstick incident hurt because she had reflexively covered her face and hit the floor with her elbow first – a great spot to fall on, really – and Liz already feared she had got injured again. Luckily, she had not. Only when she had taken care of this, she wondered what she had tripped about. Standing up and turning around to see what was on the floor, Liz almost tripped again. Backwards this time.

Lying in the middle of the corridor were her classmate Hermione Granger and the Ravenclaw prefect Penelope Clearwater.

When Liz realised they would lie there for hours because of the Quidditch match, and that she would be virtually proven guilty if she didn’t report the incident, she immediately changed her direction. She ran through the castle without a plan where to go – yes, she could be very impulsive sometimes – until she bumped into her mum. After Minerva had been told about the attack, she instructed Liz to go to the staff room and rushed off to the Quidditch pitch to tell the others about it.

The staff room was orphaned. Everyone was out to watch the match. Liz could have taken every seat she wanted, the carpet in front of the fireplace as well as the ‘good’ armchair, but she just stood by the windows to look out. It was funny how all the people, as different as they were, flipped out because of something as ridiculous as Quidditch, she thought. All of them, except Hermine, Penelope and her. Did it mean she was like them? But she did not _want_ to be like them! Studying all the time, achieving great marks, becoming a Prefect… On the other hand, she did achieve great marks, and Minerva had been Prefect and about the most criminal student of her age at the same time. Was it possible that Dumbledore would make her a Prefect somewhen, then? At least she wouldn’t have put it past him.

* * *

“You’re a Slytherin, Liz! You spend your days exploring the castle and talking to snakes when you’re not trying to get into the restricted section of the library! Why don’t you have any idea who, what or where Slytherin’s monster could be? You must be joking!”

“Minerva, please!” Madam Hooch put a hand on her arm. “We’re all shocked, but it’s not her fault.”

“But – ” Minerva gesticulated towards her daughter, who was now really sitting on the carpet in front of the fireplace. Around her, all the teachers were seated on chairs and on the sofa. Not the best conditions for a talk as equals.

Liz sighed. “Okay, guys,” she said patiently, aware that she was not being very polite. “I don’t know what is going on in your heads. What I do know is that you rely on me in so many aspects, I could easily sue you for child labour. But. I am thirteen years old. I should be outside, playing games with my friends, studying for school, and the biggest problems I have to deal with should be about crushes on my classmates. Instead,” she raised one hand to count on her fingers, “I am expected to get a degree in Transfiguration, teach Transfiguration until I bite the dust one day, find another lycantrophile, marry that guy and spend my whole motherfucking life in this old, dusty castle full of bugs.” And again, she was aware that she was not being very polite. “Don’t you think that’s enough for now?”

When nobody answered, she proceeded to speak with a light Scottish accent like her sister used to – damn hot, but not much more. “Hi, I’m Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Head of Gryffindor, mother of two, and I don’t see why my daughter can’t just do my job! Like, she’s partly doing the jobs of a house elf, a caretaker and her sister, even buying groceries at Hogsmeade although she’s officially not allowed to go there, but can’t she get out of her comfort zone and do my job as well? Is that really too much to ask for? Does she even _love_ me?!”

Minerva opened her mouth, shocked, but said nothing. Liz went on, now imitating Professor Dumbledore. “Good morning, my name is Albus Dumbledore. I am designated Headmaster of Hogwarts, and I have a bug problem. Actually, it’s more than an ordinary bug problem – although we do have one of those, too – and at least one of them might be the death of us all if we won’t find a solution real quick. All right, I lied, both of them might be the death of us all. What should I do, take care of it myself? Especially as I’m not teaching and have lots of time on my hands? No, I think I’ma rely on a teenager!”

The headmaster gave her a look like he wanted to say: ‘Come on, we both know this isn’t true.’

Liz got up from the carpet. “Sorry folks, but that’s not how it works. You can’t have a single, underage person to take care of all of your jobs. And now I’m going to leave and I don’t need to be escorted by any of you. Thank you.”

* * *

When Liz had shut the door behind her, Minerva got up and went to the desk on which her marked Transfiguration homework lay. The other members of the staff went back to their work as well. Severus went over to her. “Do you want drugs?” he asked her quietly.

“You mean alcohol?” she replied just as quietly.

“No, I meant medicine. I could get you some.”

Minerva hesitated. “No… I’ll try without,” she then said.

“When are you going to therapy again?”

“I’ve got an appointment for the day after tomorrow.”

“Good. Meet me in my office at eight.” He marched out of the staff room and followed Liz, who had already reached the end of the corridor. He had to hurry to catch up with her.

Before he had reached her, Liz already said sharply: “I said I don’t need _any of you._ Including you, Professor Snape.”

“Believe me, it’s not my intention to, uh, _escort_ you.”

“Sure, and Dumbledore didn’t send you.”

“Exactly, that’s what he did not do.”

Liz snorted contemptuously.

“Where are you going?”

“Sleep,” she cut him off. “When in doubt, go to sleep. Ancient cat lore.”

Severus smiled to himself. “Your mum is a wise kitten.”

“Wise in the big questions of life, but terribly short-sighted in everything else.” It looked like her steps led to the Room of Requirement. And indeed, she did not even have to walk back and forth in front of it, its door was already there when they entered the corridor.

The Room of Requirement was rather small today, compared to how big it could get. Liz pushed the door open, walked straight into the room and sat down on the bed that it had spawned without hesitating. “What are you waiting for? Come in or leave!”

Severus, who had been waiting on the doorstep, stepped in and closed the door behind him, surprised by her behaviour. “You want me to stay?”

“If you can…” As he sat down on the end of the bed, Liz huddled under the blanket and pulled her knees up. “Can we talk about something?”

“We can talk about anything,” he assured her. “You talk and I’ll listen.”

“Fine.” Nonetheless, she waited a minute or two before she began. “Why is everything so heavy? Why can’t I just live a normal life with sane parents, a… I don’t know… _breathing_ sister, without all this magic jazz? Lycantrophy – okay, fine, but magic? No. I’m done. Magic is the bane of my life, not joking. Like, I’m doing nothing at all, just existing, and suddenly it’s all my fault because magic! There’s a monster in our school – magic. Miri’s got attacked – magic. Minerva hates me – magic. What have I done wrong in my life?!”

“Nothing,” Severus said gently.

Liz snorted.

“This is hard for you, huh? Being told you need to catch the other Heir of Slytherin, just because you’re remotely related to them?”

Liz nodded silently.

“I know how it feels when you think even existing was the wrong decision,” he continued, carefully keeping up the physical distance. “It feels like you’ve committed a crime and they won’t just punish you properly and let it be, right? Always going on picking on you, going on and on and on…”

Liz nodded again.

“It won’t last forever, believe me.”

“Min hates me.”

“No, she doesn’t. She’s a little psychotic, but she doesn’t hate you.”

“That’s why she’s in therapy, for Merlin’s sake!”

He sighed. “Healing takes its time, Liz.”

“Mmh.” She did not look very convinced, but at least she didn’t contradict. “I’m going to sleep now.”


	19. Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all those who never believed Dumbledore was everything that kept the school together.

“This is _madness!_ ” Liz hissed. “We’re virtually _bound_ to get caught! You sure you couldn't come up with a dumber idea?” 

“Of course we’ll get caught if you don’t stop talking,” Draco hissed back annoyed. “Do you have a better plan?” 

Liz tucked a loose wisp of hair under the black scarf she had, um, temporarily borrowed from Professor Trelawney. “Was I even asked? Well, I don’t think so!” 

Draco moaned as he pulled the hood of his black cloak down over his face. “You’re just sulky because it’s cold.” He scooted closer to Liz to put his arms (and automatically half of his cloak) around her, which made her smile again. “Wow, I’m a wizard!” he whispered. “I can make bad vibes disappear!” 

She shook her head and turned her eyes back at Hagrid’s hut. “Idiot.” 

* * *

At the same time, or maybe a little earlier, Minerva sat in Severus’s flat on his bed. Severus was standing in the bathroom in front of the mirror and drying his hands with a towel. He came over to her and took a seat on the mattress, too. “Tell me, why did I ever promise Liz to teach her Legilimency?” he sighed. 

Minerva snickered. “You know, there are about two kinds of father-daughter-relationships. Some fathers would promise their daughters anything – and the others, well. You know.” 

“Your father promised to teach you Legilimency?” Severus wondered. 

She snorted. “My father didn’t promise me anything. But, hey, it didn’t do much damage.” 

“Mostly because you lived your life at Hogwarts and London, I suppose,” he muttered. 

Minerva waved her hand defensively. “Anyway. Back to Legilimency. Why don’t you want to teach her so suddenly?” 

“I don’t know… I thought knowledge was thoroughly a good thing, but she’s so young and there’s so much power coming with the knowledge… it just doesn’t feel right.” 

“You know what? It won’t ever feel right.” She looked at him expectantly, waiting for his reaction. None came, since he was waiting for her to finish. “But after she already knows about Legilimency and you even promised to teach her, it’s best if you teach her and not, I don’t know, Bellatrix.” 

He laughed out loud. “Bella doesn’t know how to do it herself.” 

Minerva smirked. “How to do… _ what?_” 

“Let me reformulate that.” 

She snickered at his face. “Save your breath. By the way, shouldn’t you be outside standing guard?” 

Groaning, he stretched his limbs. “Do I have to?” 

* * *

They did not have to wait too long until someone approached Hagrid’s home. “Down!” Liz hissed, pulling Draco behind a heap of soil. “Someone’s coming.” 

“You’re mental,” Draco whispered back. He couldn't see anyone. 

Seconds later, Harry and Ron shed the invisibility cloak and became visible. They knocked at the door, and Hagrid opened it immediately. He was holding a crossbow. “Oh,” he said. “What are you two doing here?” He clearly hadn’t expected them to come, but nevertheless let them in. 

“This is impossible!” Draco hissed when the door had closed behind them. 

“It’s not,” Liz contradicted. “We’re out of bed, too, and we don’t even have an invisibility cloak!” 

“Not that they’re out! That you saw them! Can you see through invisibility cloaks?” 

“Mmh, yes. Kind of.” The truth was that Professor Dumbledore had indeed taught her how to recognise an invisible person in the room – you had to pay attention to small noises, such as footsteps and breathing, and if you knew where to look and the light was right, you could even make out the edges of the cloak. This time, however, she had sensed the boys with her wolfish senses rather than used the technique consciously. 

A short while after Hagrid had let his guests in, Professor Dumbledore and a man with purple boots and a light green hat walked from the border of the Hogwarts ground towards the hut. 

“Cornelius Fudge,” Draco whispered already when they first appeared in his visual field, still too far away to hear him. “I’m really wondering who gave him that hat. Makes him look like an imbecile.” 

“Maybe it’s tactics?” Liz mused. “Or it’s supposed to be a warning ‘cause he really _is_ an imbecile.” 

Draco snickered. “Fair enough.” 

They had hardly entered the cabin when Lucius Malfoy appeared, seemingly from Hogsmeade. He was wearing a long black travelling coat and, as he always did in public, walking with his cane (although he didn’t need it to lean on). “What on earth does he need a travelling cloak for?” Liz murmured into Draco’s ear. “He didn’t take the train or anything, and you don’t freaking need a travelling cloak for those five hundred meters from Hogsmeade to Hagrid’s house!” 

“That’s just his style. Malfoys wear travelling cloaks, can’t change his mind.” 

“ _Malfoys wear travelling cloaks_ , uuuh,” Liz mimicked him. “Would you marry me so I can wear a proper cloak at last?” 

“You’d get one quicker if you worked for my father…” 

They both got silent when Mr Malfoy came near. He went into the cabin, not without having eyed it disparaging. Immediately after he had shut the door, Liz and Draco could hear Hagrid shout: “What are you doing here? Get outta my house!” 

“… if you worked for my father as a house elf and saved your salary, I was going to say,” Draco continued calmly. “He would never allow the two of us together.” 

Liz shook her head. “Draco, you’re a fool. I wouldn't marry you if they gave me Slytherin’s locket for it.” 

“And how many did you have to threaten and blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, he?” Hagrid shouted. 

Liz grinned. “Fair point.” 

Draco raised his arms as if to say: _But what do you want to do about it?_

“You can’t take Dumbledore! Take him away, and the Muggleborns won’t stand a chance! There’ll be killing next!” 

“A statement which I would not fully support,” Liz mumbled. “If someone has the courage to petrify several people out on the corridors, they won’t be afraid of killing them right away. None of the attacks has worked so far, but Dumbledore surely wasn’t the reason why.” 

“How can you know?” 

“How can you _not_ know? It’s logical. Dumbledore was never present when something happened, and all the attacks were meant to be deathly. What difference does it make?” 

Over their discussion, none of them quite understood what Hagrid said about spiders. “And someone’ll need to feed Fang while I’m away” was the next thing he said. 

“Won’t be me,” Liz muttered. “I know that Saint Potter knows how to feed a dog, thank you very much.” 

As Hagrid, Professor Dumbledore, Mr Fudge and Mr Malfoy left the cabin, Liz and Draco ducked behind some giant garden radish. They would wait until Harry and Ron went back to the castle and then sneak back in behind them, not to be seen. 

Suddenly, footsteps approached from behind. Liz and Draco spun around. Behind Hagrid’s vegetable patch stood Snape, looking furious. Liz’s brain started to work out an escape plan immediately, while Draco froze. 

“What are you doing here, out of bed, in the middle of the night?” 

Liz looked around herself. “Well, spontaneously I would say we’re hiding in a vegetable patch.” 

Snape nodded. “Sounds legitimate.” He stretched out both his hands to the children, who obediently let him pull them up from the cold soil. “I say we all go to bed and forget about this, what do you think? We’ll have to get up early tomorrow.” 

* * *

By the time Severus got back to his quarters, Minerva had fallen asleep in his bed while waiting for his shift to end. The blanket was piled next to her, and thus he could see she was wearing the short-sleeved pyjama that he knew had once belonged to Victoria. Apparently, she had forgotten it in the castle after their breakup and not cared enough to come and get it. 

It certainly wasn’t the first time she slept in his bed. Severus found that it most probably was the first time she lay there both in human form and without having discussed it earlier, but it didn’t make much of a difference. The bed was wide enough for both of them, and he didn’t have one pillow, but several of them anyway – each one charmed not to catch cat hair, which was extremely important in a castle full of cats. 

Careful not to make any noise, he pulled the blanket over Minerva and closed the bathroom door behind himself to change. Getting out of his clothes with their miles of fabric and dozens of buttons was, for some truly annoying reason, something that had reliably woken up his ex-girlfriend Kat and led to endless discussions, no matter what time of the night it had been. 

When he came out of the bathroom, Minerva’s eyelids fluttered open. “Anything unusual?” she asked casually, like he had only been away for a minute. Severus slid under the blanket next to her. “No, nothing,” he lied. On one hand, he didn’t want to spoil the night for her, and on the other hand, he was really, really tired. 

“I thought so. But some parents, you know…” She adjusted herself and fell asleep again immediately. 

“Do you think…” he began, but it was of no use. Sighing, he took one of his pillows and made himself comfortable. “Good night, Headmistress.” 

* * *

The headmaster’s suspension was not handled like it was a big issue. Even before breakfast, everybody in the castle knew, but the other teachers did not make an official announcement. It was fairly obvious how they would go on; they had a Deputy, all the Heads of Houses, and in the end, one had to admit that Professor Dumbledore hadn’t done much to actively work against the attacks anyway. 

Fear had spread among the scholars; they kept their heads down and it seemed like no one laughed anymore. The teachers, however, shared Liz’s opinion. They mostly lived on like nothing had happened, not even noticing the cold that, according to the scholars, wouldn't leave the castle. 

During lunch break, the Young Teachers Society sat in the staff room and bent their heads over an old fashion magazine from Paris, laughing and chatting. Severus called it a repression strategy; Minerva and Aurora didn’t care how it was called as long as they had fun. “Look at those,” Aurora said and pointed at a pair of high-heeled boots. “I bet you can’t walk in them, but if you could, you’d be the star of the school.” 

“Yes, and have all the kids staring at your feet while you’re trying to teach,” Minerva agreed. 

“And everyone’s like: _How can she even make it down the stairs?!_ ” 

Severus rolled his eyes. “If that’s your biggest concern, I’m not surprised they learn so little in your lessons.” 

“At least _we_ don’t have to explain why students randomly faint when we enter the classroom,” Minerva countered, why Aurora slightly blushed and said nothing. 

“That’s because you don’t dress as stylish as I do.” 

“Excuse me?!” She gestured at her blouse. “Are you telling me this is not super stylish?” 

Severus blinked slowly. “It’s red,” he said. “You’re asking the Head of Slytherin about a red piece of clothing.” 

“It’s bordeaux,” Aurora said helpfully. 

“Oh, that’s why it looks like a single stain of wine,” he sneered, but his eyes told he was joking. “Also explains why it’s not exactly high-necked.” 

“Lockhart took away the curtains because they didn’t fit his robes,” Minerva defended herself. “And the sun is shining. It’s getting hot in here!” In fact, she had only undone the few upper buttons that weren’t supposed to be closed anyway, or they might choke you. 

“If it’s getting hot, I don’t understand why you’re wearing a black skirt.” 

“Black is an extremely stylish colour, Severus,” Aurora threw in. “You would know that.” She turned a page of the magazine and was just about to delve into a variety of gloves when there was a knock on the door. 

It was Hooch who answered the door, as she had been standing next to it and watering a plant. Lucius Malfoy was standing on the corridor. 

Minerva immediately shifted into a demonstratively casual position. “If he’s going to sue me because I scolded his son, I’ll arrange him a date with Lockhart,” she muttered. 

Aurora shook her head. “You can be a cruel person if you want.” 

Mr Malfoy closed the door behind him before he spoke. “I’m coming to inform all of you of the Board’s latest decision,” he then told the staff, sounding very self-confident as if they had already been waiting for this announcement. 

Minerva crossed her arms. “I don’t see how you needed to decide anything,” she said calmly. 

He returned her look. “Since the headmaster has been suspended by the governors, we needed to work out how to proceed in this matter. We cannot close the school because of a single teacher’s absence, after all.” 

“The fuck you needed!” Hooch exploded. “Tell that to the first years, but not us! Everyone knows a company is not all about its boss, there’s a myriad of tiny inconspicuous cogs in the machine _doing their work._ Staff, okay? Where is the fucking _difference_ between us doing our jobs and us doing our jobs while someone’s sitting up there in the office and eating lemon drops?!” 

The governor did not reply immediately. Instead, he looked at Minerva, waiting for her to express her opinion on the matter. 

“I must say that I agree with my colleague,” she told him, but in a much more neutral voice than Hooch. “Scholars use to think the head of something is the same as the heart of it, but you and I know very well this is far from the truth.” And no, it wouldn't have bothered her in the least if he interpreted it as an allusion to You-Know-Who. “We might not have a headmaster right now, but he chose his Deputy years ago and those responsible for a specific House are still here and as powerful as always. We’re doing great, thank you very much.” 

“I am aware that Professor Dumbledore chose his Deputy a few years ago, Minerva.” 

She snorted. As for her, she was aware that he never used her first name except in official context. Was he trying to sound polite, or what? 

“But I’m afraid the current circumstances made it necessary for the Board to reverse his decision. All of us, including Professor Dumbledore, agreed that Professor Flitwick will take the position of the headmaster for now.” 

Filius was so surprised that he lost his grip on the heavy book he was holding. It landed on Professor Kettleburn’s remaining foot, which earned the Charms teacher a strike with his cane. 

“I respect your decision,” Minerva stated, still calm. “Nevertheless, could you tell me the reason for your sudden change of mind?” As little as they could stand each other, she still appreciated his rhetoric skills as a governor, and reversely she remembered countless ministry balls where he had praised her organising abilities in front of the others. 

“Give us a break, girl,” Professor Kettleburn muttered grudgingly. “Can’t always be the centre of attention.” 

“Strange, I can’t remember saying this was any of your business. Now, _can_ you give me a reason?” Minerva could tell she probably had that stubborn look on her face of which Severus and Aurora used to say there should be a law against it. It was driving people insane, they said. ‘In the good or in the bad way?’ she had asked, and half the staff room had rolled their eyes – whatever it had been supposed to mean. 

Either way, Mr Malfoy was not driven insane by her gaze. “Sure,” he replied. “Can we go somewhere else?” 


	20. Unsuccessful Rebels, Take 2

“As you like.” Minerva grabbed her robe and stood up. Everyone in the room was watching her. “You can mind your own business now, the show is over.”

Malfoy motioned her to go first – which was relatable, as she knew the castle better than him, but not very helpful on the other hand, as she didn’t know where he wanted to go.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Just anywhere else,” he said. How very helpful. “You wouldn't want to discuss this in front of everyone.”

She snorted. “You want to bet, Malfoy? I’m not like that. Everyone knows I’m a psycho.”

“Well. How’s your daughter doing?”

“Liz? Oh, great. Filius told me she’s already done with the Charms curricular for this year, I don’t know what to do with her…”

* * *

Since the teachers had set that no scholar was allowed to go anywhere on their own, there were exactly three second years who tried to circumvent this rule as often as possible: Liz, Draco and Harry. The Heir of Slytherin, the governor’s son and The Boy Who Should Probably Stay Away From Everything Only Remotely Slytherin. One or two out of those knowing how to defend their lives – and Harry was not one of them.

The others were all glad that the teachers were available to help them in case something happened, and followed their instructions. But, seriously – how was _Professor Binns_ supposed to fight an attacker? Hover between the monster and the scholars and have himself blackened, or what?

Anyway, it had been Professor Binns’ turn to take care of the kids when Liz and Draco had separated from the rest of the group and decided to go for a walk instead. They were chatting and holding hands because – well, why not? Physicalness had never posed a problem to their friendship – when they reached a corridor on whose other end their parents stood. Precisely, Minerva was leaning against a windowsill and Mr Malfoy, who seemed a little nervous, was fidgeting around in front of her. As soon as Liz and Draco spotted them, they let go of each other’s hand and stepped apart. Only then they realised that they weren’t supposed to be on the corridor at all and hurried to hide behind a statue.

“Now, what’s the reason you had to refill my position without telling me and shoo me through half the castle before you could inform me properly?” Minerva asked.

“Well, Professor Flitwick is a very competent teacher, to begin with, and Head of Ravenclaw, who has several decades of experience to show for himself and has a clean record so far…”

“I know that Professor Flitwick is Head of Ravenclaw, thank you very much,” she said friendly. “And I am aware that I don’t have my full two decades of experience yet and that my own record is not as clean as his, but this has nothing to do with Albus Dumbledore deciding that his Transfiguration teacher is suited better to fill the vacancy than, for example, the Head of Ravenclaw.”

“You were _thirty_ when you were assigned the position.” He sounded disparaging.

Minerva smiled. “My qualification has only increased since then. Would you care to answer my question?”

“Well.” Mr Malfoy felt visibly unwell under her gaze.

“Malfoy…” she said in a warning tone. “We can keep this short and you just open your mouth and tell me, or we can stand here all day and talk about everything except the reason why we are here.”

“Alright.” He straightened himself. “There was the criticism you couldn't deal with the situation in a professional way because your daughter was one of the victims and you were emotionally involved. To avoid this accusation, the members of the Board agreed to temporarily transfer your function as Deputy to another professor who is not involved in any kind of way.”

He took a step backwards and gripped his cane in a way that allowed him to pull his wand fast in case he needed it – Liz snickered silently behind her statue – but Minerva merely nodded. “Okay,” she said and turned to leave.

“Wait, that’s all?”

“Oh, excuse me.” She stopped and turned towards him again. “I appreciate that I was explained the governors’ decision based on facts and without you getting personal. This is, sadly, not as self-evident as it should be.” Leaving, she added casually: “Liz, Draco, you should go to your next lesson now. Defence, if I’m not mistaken.”

* * *

Two weeks later, Dumbledore was still suspended… and Draco seemed to have forgotten what Liz had explained that night in the vegetable patch. Or maybe he didn’t believe her.

“I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of Dumbledore,” he said in one of their Potions lessons. And Liz had to wonder who he was talking to, as nobody had asked. “I told you he thinks Dumbledore’s the worst headmaster the school’s ever had. Maybe we’ll get a decent headmaster now. Someone who won’t want the Chamber of Secrets closed. Flitwick won’t last long, he’s only filling in…”

“Why Flitwick, of all?” Dean asked. “Wasn’t McG Deputy Headmistress, at least until last year?”

“Because her daughter is among the victims, which makes it a personal matter for her and is at odds with her responsibilities as headmistress,” Snape explained in his usual cold voice.

Dean flinched. He had not expected an answer, especially not an answer from Snape. Seamus next to him was staring at Liz in a way that indicated how the little rack-wheels in his brain were working.

“Her _older_ daughter,” the professor said sarcastically. Seamus stared at him in confusion. “The pretty little thing on high heels that used to sit at the Gryffindor table with you during breakfast.” Actually, Miri used to wear her working shoes at breakfast and high heels in the evening, but Liz didn’t correct him. Discovering the existence of her sister was probably enough for Seamus’s brain to process.

“Sir,” Draco piped in. “Sir, why don’t you apply for the headmaster’s job?”

Liz snorted. “I thought you wanted someone who won’t want the Chamber of Secrets closed,” she muttered to him.

Snape smiled mildly. “Now, now, Malfoy. Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I daresay he’ll be back with us soon enough.”

“Yeah, but why don’t you apply anyway, in case they need a new headmaster unexpectedly – I expect you have Father’s vote, Sir – I’ll tell him you’re the best teacher here – ”

“It would be unwise to apply for a job that is not advertised yet, I wouldn't be too sure about that and he knows,” Snape replied calmly. “To answer your questions in chronological order.”

When Draco prepared to go on, Liz used her elbow to stop him. “Shut the fuck up, man!” she hissed. “For the sake of Slytherin’s comb’s broken teeth, you’re totally digging yourself a hole with your careless talking.”

* * *

Liz skipped the second half of their Herbology lesson and snook out the greenhouse to get her books for Defence Against The Dark Arts. Not Lockhart’s books, however – it was a stack of books of her own choice that she carried into the classroom.

“That’s _real_ literature,” she said when Dean asked her about them. “Four good, honest, scientific books on potions, one trilogy and a stand-alone, by Severus Snape, and two on transfiguration by Minerva McGonagall. And her award-winning cat novel, realistic fiction/adventure, that I must admit I haven’t read yet although it’s already four years old.”

“Your parents are published authors?” Dean asked with amazement.

“Yeah!” Liz was beaming. “Isn’t that great?”

“You must be a very proud daughter,” Lockhart, who had stepped behind her unseen, commented in the tone of a Quidditch captain who was bitching about the other team, yet he knew they were technically better than him and his players.

She turned around and smiled at him. “I am, Mr Lockhart. I am.”

The following quarrel between Lockhart and anyone else was just a background noise while she delved into the adventures of Cinderella, the stray tabby.


	21. The End... of what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, readers!  
> We're nearing the end, and I'm kinda sad because I'm _that_ bad at planning - I was going to do Liz's next school year for NaNoWriMo, but now I think I'm not going to wait that long.  
> Well, it's kind of a long chapter today, but what can I say - there's happening so much at Hogwarts...!

Minerva did not know that her daughter was reading her cat novel, and she didn’t know what Harry and Ron were planning or that Lockhart and the class were arguing over Professor Dumbledore’s suspension either. All she knew was that her hair needed a wash, and that she was going to take a shower at the teachers’ bathroom where the Young Teachers Society used to hang around on a stressful afternoon.

The teachers’ bathroom was a relict from the old times, when not all of the teachers had had running water in their flats, and had been renovated along with everything else when the staff quarters had been modernised quite a few years ago. It held a big, polygonal room with a long mirror on the wall (Minerva couldn’t be bothered to count how many corners it had) and a row of basins, lockers, in which the staff could store their personal things, and rather narrow hallways that led to the showers, toilets, and to a room with a giant bathtub similar to the one in the Prefects’ bathroom. When the bathroom had been built, there had been no such thing as separated rooms for men and women, and they still weren’t requested by anyone: They had non-transparent shower cabins, the bathtub was hardly ever used by anyone, and washing your hands next to colleagues of the other sex wasn’t exactly deathly. Precisely, the teachers’ bathroom as a whole was hardly used by anyone because most of the staff preferred the showers in their own flats – although they didn’t provide hot water as reliably as the public ones.

When Minerva had already pulled the pins out of her bun in front of the mirror and was putting them back into her case one by one, Severus stepped into the room. “Heya, Min! What are you doing?”

She rolled her eyes. “What am I doing, Severus. Use your brain.” She took a towel, her shampoo and a stack of clothes out of her locker and went into the first shower cabin. The cabin was like a small room without a roof that contained the shower itself with its actual glass walls and shelves and hooks for the clothes et cetera.

“Did you hear what the Bloody Baron did?” he asked through the closed door as Minerva unbuttoned her dress.

“Depends on what you mean – having endless monologues about the meaning of life in front of heartbroken scholars? Yes, he does that quite often.”

“Scholars, huh?”

“Okay, scholars and former scholars. And… probably everyone else.” She turned on the water – cold, as always. Even before the water became warmer, it suddenly went silent. “Severus!”

“Minerva?”

“Do you have to put silencing charms on everything within reach?”

“I wasn’t finished talking about the Bloody Baron. Did you hear he played a game with Liz today?”

“Look, if I cared who plays with my daughter all day, my brain would most probably overheat regularly. But I’m not really surprised.”

“Only she didn’t want to play,” Severus pointed out. “She was reading your Cinderella book and repeatedly said she didn’t want to be disturbed, like a Ravenclaw.”

Minerva reached for the shampoo. “That’s nice and I hope she didn’t read the dedication.”

“Why?”

“Because reasons.”

She washed her hair in silence, literally, because the silencing charm was still lying over the shower, while Severus leant against a basin and waited. It was a pleasant alternation to not have to talk to anyone for a minute, until…

“Minnie! What a nice surprise, we haven’t seen each other in _ages!_ ”

Minerva jerked around. “ _Myrtle!_ ” she moaned. “How often do I have to tell you to _back the hell off_ before you get it?”

“Oh, come on,” Myrtle said smoothly. “I’ve known you since you were eleven, don’t be that piece of chewing gum in my hair.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to talk to you now.”

“Minnie, us girls with glasses have to stick together!” Myrtle begged. “Don’t you know anymore?”

Minerva shrugged. “No one makes passes at girls with glasses,” she said nonchalantly. “Except when they’re super hot and their hair looks just awesome and they won’t hesitate punching Olive Hornby in the face. And… I didn’t wear glasses when I was eleven. Get lost, Myrtle.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The ghost floated through the cabin wall mortally offended. On the doorstep, she nearly flew into Aurora.

“Hey, can’t you look where you’re going!” Aurora stumbled sideways to avoid the icy touch of Myrtle’s ghost hand. When Myrtle was gone, she asked Severus: “Bothering harmless people in the shower again?”

He grinned. “Do you mean me or her?”

“Actually, I was talking about Myrtle.”

“I think the technical term is ‘stalking and sexual harassment’,” Minerva threw in. “It’s getting pretty unnerving lately. Like, it’s not _my_ fault she died a virgin.”

“Did she?”

Minerva and Severus groaned out simultaneously. “Let me ask you a question,” Minerva said and turned off the water. “How old was Myrtle when she died?”

“Umm…”

“You don’t know.”

“I don’t know and I don’t care, why should I know that?”

“We don’t know either,” Severus admitted. “But we know she was a scholar, and not a popular one.” Aurora said nothing. “Let me tell you about unpopular scholars,” he sighed. “Some things just don’t happen to them.”

“Whatever,” Aurora eventually said. “I thought Hooch was a hardcore lesbian, but _Myrtle…_ ”

“… is an extremely bored person,” Severus finished her sentence. “She does that with everyone.”

“Wait, everyone as in ‘anyone and everyone’?” Minerva wondered while taking on her clothes.

“Everyone,” he repeated. “Public bathrooms, dormitory bathrooms, private bathrooms, I even got complains from the Prefects because she stalks their bathroom.”

“Whoa.” Minerva shuddered. “Who wants that? If I were a ghost, I would stalk people night and day, but not like _that._ ” She gathered her things and came out of the cabin.

Aurora nodded. “Me too.”

“Oh, I wouldn't,” Severus stated. “I don’t have the nerves to get upset about all the things people do wrong every day.”

* * *

The next day made Liz wish she worked at the Three Broomsticks and could just take a week off. It started already at breakfast. She had supervised the house elves in the kitchen, as she always did, and eaten some toast. During breakfast, she thought, she would be able to read a little more because her mum’s novel really was a page-turner… but she was mistaken.

No matter where she went, she wouldn't be left alone:

“Do you know any secret passages on the third floor?” the Bloody Baron needled her.

“Where’s the bacon?” Luna from the Ravenclaw table asked.

“You should really eat something, Liz!” Oliver Wood pushed her.

“Can I read your Transfiguration essay?” Draco begged.

Finally, Liz slammed her hand on the table. “Shut up everyone, I’m reading!”

The others went silent for a split second, then they went on talking. And Madam Pince, who was passing by, gave her a derogatory look that was meant to say _Don’t you spill pumpkin juice over it._

* * *

The first lesson was Transfiguration, Liz’s definite favourite subject of all. Next to History. Ahem.

“Exams start on first of June,” Professor McGonagall announced. “One week from today.” Which was, to be honest, a little late to announce when the exams would be, assuming that there had not been a schedule handed out earlier. But on the other hand, there had probably been one and Liz had only successfully blocked it out.

“Exams?” Seamus howled. “We’re still getting exams?” Neville dropped his wand and vanished one of the legs of his desk. Harry looked like she had insulted him in French.

“Not much of a surprise, is it?” Liz shrugged. “I mean, this is a boarding school. If we can’t take exams here, they’ll send us home in no time.”

“The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is for you to receive your education,” Professor McGonagall agreed with her. “The exams will therefore take place as usual, and I trust you are all studying hard.”

Well. Studying. Liz had been revising the first year curricular for Transfiguration since the start of the year, slowly catching up, so if she were to take the first years’ exams, she would have been able to achieve average marks. The second year curricular, however… She looked at the rabbits they should turn into slippers. Pretty sure nobody would protest if she refused to even try, as it would have been cruelty to animals.

“… means finding out how much you have learned this year,” Professor McGonagall ended her speech.

Oh, Liz had learned a lot. To keep her mouth shut when it came to things she had officially not witnessed, for example. That life never went as one had planned. How crazy one must be to drink pure whisky. But somehow she doubted that this would help during her exams.

* * *

Liz had proceeded to study and practise at the barn, between Selene and Aiolos and a stray cat, to escape the Bloody Baron and get at least a few short units done, when three days before their first exam Professor Flitwick tried to announce something at breakfast.

“I have good news,” he began, but nobody listened to him.

Minerva took over. “Good news,” she repeated, standing up, and the Great Hall started cheering. When everyone was silent again, she continued: “According to Professor Sprout, the mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. By tonight, we will be able to revive the petrified. Including Sir Nicholas… but don’t ask me how. As we all know, they will be able to tell us who or what attacked them. I do hope,” and now she pierced Liz with her gaze, who felt like the ground below her feet was melting and she was slowly sinking into the floor of the Great Hall, “that we will _finally_ catch the culprit before this dreadful year ends.”

When she sat down again, the House tables exploded with cheering. Liz was probably the only one who didn’t join in. _Not good enough,_ the words echoed within her head. _Dreadful performance, Miss Slytherin. Not good enough. Chamber of Secrets. Disappointment._

Liz got up and slammed both her hands on the table. “I am not a disappointment!” she said in French. No one asked. Probably no one had heard it anyway. “I didn’t open the Chamber and it’s not my job to close it again. I am nothing but an ordinary scholar.” Then she snatched a bread roll from the basket in front of her and left the Great Hall. Nobody tried to stop her because they were all focused on their food.

It was presumably the most dangerous day of the of the year for wandering over the corridors all alone; the other Heir of Slytherin possibly knew that this would be his or her last chance, and it was kind of obvious that Miri had been the wrong victim… but on the other hand, it was statistically very unlikely that Liz, of all, would on this day, of all, be the one and only person killed by Slytherin’s monster. And if it was a snake, she would even have an advantage over the others because she knew Parsel. But nothing happened, she did not even meet the Bloody Baron and arrived at the classroom punctually.

* * *

Minerva had barely been so nervous since she had received Severus’s letter in the Christmas holidays. She could not say what it was, but somehow she couldn't wait until the mandrakes were cut and boiled. Liz and Draco weren’t even brewing mischief, as far as she knew – and hell, did she know them. Eleven years were more than enough to get a feeling for when they were up to something. Oh, and now she was getting nostalgic. Great.

She had just taken her last course to the next lesson and was now rushing back to her classroom when she ran into Harry and his friend Ron Weasley. Of course. Near the spot where Mrs Norris had been found. _Of course._

“Potter! Weasley! What are you doing?”

“We were – we were – we were going to – to go and see – ” See what? See how long it would take until one of them was killed?

“Hermione,” Harry said. “We haven’t seen her for ages, Professor – and we thought we’d sneak into the Hospital Wing, you know, and tell her the mandrakes are nearly ready and, er, not to worry – ”

This confused her more than she would have admitted. The sane part of her brain, as small as it might have been, knew that Harry was talking rubbish and that he knew better than that. The rest of her overstrained, hectic, nostalgic mind, however, all of a sudden thought of Miri – something that the therapist had told her not to do, as well as Madam Pomfrey and Severus and Hooch and everyone else. And Albus, of course, but he didn’t count because she wouldn't listen to him. The realisation that her own daughter, goddammit, was one of the victims, was so overwhelming that the sane part of the brain hurried to disappear behind its door again, and therefore, a sensible reaction was entirely out of the question.

“Of course,” she said – and wanted to bang her head against the next wall at the same time, why did she talk like this? “Of course, I realise this has all been the hardest on the friends of those who have been… I quite understand. Yes, Potter, of course you may visit Miss Granger. I will inform Professor Binns where you’ve gone.” Why did she say that? He wouldn't even notice if someone was missing. Hell, she had skipped half a year of History herself in her last year! “Tell Madam Pomfrey I have given my permission.”

When they had turned the corner, Minerva really banged her head against the wall and stayed there for a moment. As she did so, she felt tears filling her eyes. “Oh, come on!” she murmured angrily to herself. “Survived Rufus Scrimgeour but cry because of a pre-teen who’s gonna do anything but go to the Hospital Wing, is that what you fought for?” She straightened herself. “I shouldn’t think so.”

* * *

History was boring. Very, very, very boring. So boring that it virtually dried out the prank section of Liz’s brain and the only cognitive performance she could be bothered to was a scientific paper about how History lessons slowed down your creative flow. Sighing, she rested her head on the wooden desk in front of her and threw a desiring look to the clock. Next to her, Parvati was having what you could rightly call a nap. Liz gave the clock a death stare, but the digits didn’t move. If only she had a remote control to let the bell ring a few dispensable minutes earlier…

But the lesson would not take its usual time anyway. Everyone in Professor Binns’ classroom, except himself, jumped in their seats when Professor McGonagall’s magically magnified voice echoed through the castle. “All students return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please. And, Miss Elizabeth Slytherin North – _I am so going to send you to Riddle’s orphanage if you don’t move your ass to the staff room right now._ ” She said the last part in French, causing confused faces all over the place. Liz would have been tempted to laugh at her accent, as her mum’s French was enjoyed best in written form, if she hadn’t been so sure she was going to die a young age. Thirteen, precisely. To return as [L...ing] Lizzie, so to speak, and have the Bloody Baron get into her hair until the end of eternity. And Professor Binns, whom she should probably convince to go to the staff room as well.

When Liz arrived at the staff room out of breath, she was on her own. Professor Binns had not heard Minerva’s announcement, he hadn’t noticed when everyone had ran to the dormitories and he still hadn’t looked up from his book when Liz had thrown a heavy encyclopedia right through him. Must have been an outstandingly interesting chapter that he was teaching today.

“Professor Binns?” Minerva asked sharply. She had taken off her teaching robes, indicating that she was about to get some action into the castle rather than sit down and wait for better times.

“Tossed a book through through his head,” Liz breathed. “No reaction. Do we need him?”

“Legitimate question,” Minerva murmured.

Professor Kettleburn cleared his throat. “May I remind you that this is not your job.”

Professor Flitwick made a dismissive gesture. “Shut it and let her do the talking.”

“Alright.” Minerva waited until Liz had closed the door and was leaning against it, then she reported: “Our precautionary measures all failed. A scholar has been taken by the monster.”

Liz frowned. “Taken as in ‘raped’? Okay, that’s disgusting. Does that imply that Slytherin’s monster is a person?” Which would have been funny, because ‘Slytherin’s monster’ had been one of her nicknames earlier. And… disgusting. _Very_ disgusting.

“No, taken as in ‘taken into the Chamber’, Elizabeth.”

“Wait. Does that mean you know where it is?”

Minerva sighed. “Stop it or you’ll wake up at the orphanage tomorrow.” This time, she said it in English, since a few colleagues’ French was way better than hers. “Said Heir of Slytherin,” she said slowly, fixing Liz with her gaze like she had done at breakfast, “left another message. Right underneath the first one. _Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever._ ”

Madam Hooch had to sit down, Snape was clutching the back of her chair really hard and Professor Sprout looked like she would forget to breathe. Liz nodded approvingly. _“Not bad for a first-timer,”_ she commented – and was inconceivably lucky that it came out in Parsel.

“Who is it?” asked Madam Hooch. “Which student?”

“Ginny Weasley.”

“From the first year?” Snape asked, just to be sure.

Minerva gave him a sarcastical look. “How many Ginny Weasleys do you know?”

“Excuse me, I know lots of Ginnys and Jennys and Jeannies! And lots of Weasleys, that much is certain.”

“You know what’s funny?” Liz threw in. “This guy petrified my sister, killed an innocent first year, lots of trouble, and I’m still walking around. One would think that I’m supposed to die. Tragical.”

Professor Sinistra raised her head in confusion. “Die?”

Minerva, Snape, Madam Hooch and Liz rolled their eyes at the same time. “No, someone’s collecting a stone works museum in the infirmary,” Snape muttered sarcastically.

“Severus!” Minerva took a deep breath while Snape mumbled an excuse. “We need to close the school. Can’t keep an institution open where people are killed away when they walk the wrong corridor at the wrong time.”

“This is the end of Hogwarts,” Professor Flitwick concluded sadly.

Suddenly, the door banged open, hitting Liz hard from behind and throwing her to the ground.

“So sorry – dozed off – what have I missed?” Lockhart stammered, beaming as always.

Liz got to her feet with a groan. “Merlin, I think my spine is broken. But even if you debonize me, I’m gonna have more backbone than you, Mister!”

Snape let go of the chair and stepped forward. “Just the man,” he said to Lockhart, who had no idea what was going on. “The very man. A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last.”

“That’s right, Gilderoy,” Professor Sprout joined in. “Weren’t you saying just last night that you’ve known all along where the Chamber of Secrets is?”

Liz snorted. “Because an impostor would know more about the castle than me.”

“I – well, I – ”

“Yes, didn’t you tell me you were sure you knew what was inside it?” Professor Flitwick helped.

“D-did I? I don’t recall – ”

“I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn’t had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested,” Snape brought to mind. “Didn’t you say that the whole affair had been bungled, and that you should have been given a free rein from the first?”

“I – I really never – you may have misunderstood – ”

“We’ll leave it to you, then,” Minerva claimed. “Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We’ll make sure everyone’s out of your way. You’ll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself – and don’t forget to write a book about it. How does that sound?”

Liz put on her usual disapproving face, not to raise any suspicion; the others looked at him expectantly.

Lockhart’s face fell. “V-very well. I’ll – I’ll be in my office, getting – getting ready.” And he stumbled back out of the office, hopelessly overchallenged by the situation.

“Smooth,” Snape said.

Minerva smiled evilly, and this was the moment Liz was sure that she had taken some dubious psychotropics from Snape’s stock. “That’s got him out from under our feet. The Heads of Houses should go and inform the scholars what has happened. The Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Aurora, you take care of that. Liz, you go with her. Would the rest of you please make sure no one’s left on the corridors, and see for it that you won’t run into the monster before you turn a corner.”

* * *

It was the most boring afternoon Liz had spent at Hogwarts in a long time. She accompanied Professor Sinistra to the train station in Hogsmeade to inform whoever was responsible for the Hogwarts Express schedule that they would need the train to bring everyone back to London tomorrow, which was an awkward walk for both of them. Then they went to Honeydukes, where Professor Sinistra bought some chocolate and Liz was a little annoyed because she didn’t have money since Professor Dumbledore wasn’t there to let her keep the deposit of his empty bottles.

Back at the staff room, Snape gave her one of his old, pencil-marked novels to read – _The Witch and the Were_ , that she already knew – but she never made it past the second page because she just wasn’t interested into reading it right now.

“This will be the end of Hogwarts,” Professor Flitwick said again. Everyone was sitting at the staff room, and if Liz had thought the walk to Hogsmeade had been awkward, this situation was a whole lot awkwarder. It was like treading on thin ice; no one knew what they were allowed to say in order to not hurt anyone else’s feelings, and some of the teachers didn’t even know what thoughts they could articulate without losing their composure themselves. Professor Trelawney didn’t even dare to make her typical dark prophecies.

“Not necessarily,” Snape contradicted. “We need a school for witchcraft and wizardry, I’m sure Hogwarts will be rebuilt pretty soon. A few decades at most.” He paused. “More important, this is the end of Min and me. We don’t have savings or supportive family, where are we going to live? What are we going to do?”

“Miri’s gonna find herself a cheap flat,” Liz said confidently. “And I can work at the Hogshead – black, I mean.”

“I’ve got a small summer cottage on the Isle of Lewis,” Madam Hooch offered. “Outer Hebrides. Should be big enough for you three until you find something else.”

Snape nodded. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

Minerva sighed and took off her glasses to polish them with her sleeve. “If all else fails, I can still prostitute myself. Might be a little more lucrative than a job at the Hogshead.” Snape looked the tiniest bit shocked, but she didn’t look at him. “I mean, I’ve never worked at the Hogshead, so what do I know.”

“Stop being so negative!” Madam Hooch protested.

“I’m not being negative, I’m merely being realistic. Although I _would_ appreciate if I didn’t have to.”

The others shook their heads and dedicated themselves to their books and magazines again, as if they were all saying: _Min, you’re a hopeless case._

Liz continued staring at the pages for what felt like hours, until, suddenly, something occurred to her out of the total emptiness in her head.

“Oh. My. God,” she said, looking up with her typical flash-of-insight face, closed the book she had been holding and banged it against her head. “I discovered the Chamber of Secrets when I was five. How could I forget about that.” Then she got up and started to laugh. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Snape foresightfully put his hand on Minerva’s arm. “What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I… Seriously. Sorry guys, I gotta go… gotta punch the Heir of Slytherin in his ugly face… or _her_ face… I hope it’s Pansy Parkinson.”

Still giggling over her own blindness, she sped along the corridors towards Myrtle’s bathroom and found the special basin. The gate had closed again, as gates of secret passages used to do, Liz hissed revilements at it until it opened and slid down the pipe without hesitating.

As she slid deeper and deeper down into what must have been next to the dungeons if Liz wasn’t completely mistaken, she could hear the voices of Harry and Ron echoing in the tunnel. _Of course._ She should have known.

When the pipe ended, Liz landed on the cold, damp floor. And the walls weren’t any better. Seriously, had the Other Heir not had the nerves to look for a proper ventilation system, or at least some kind of radiator in the whole year they had been residing down here? She knew she was quite a lazy person herself, but still she wouldn't have wanted to live in a room with damp walls.

It was dark, yet she didn’t need to light her wand to see. She hardly ever needed it to find her way on dark corridors. Could snakes see in the dark? Could _wolves_ see in the dark? Questions upon questions. She would ask Dumbledore when he was back. A few meters into the tunnel, Liz bumped into Harry and Ron, who were accompanied by Lockhart. Of all. What the heck.

“Obliviate!” Lockhart yelled, Ron’s broken wand raised over his head. They hadn’t noticed her yet. The wand exploded at the wrong end, or maybe Lockhart was holding it the wrong way, and the famous author was hit by his own spell. Caused by the power of the spell, the ceiling of the tunnel cracked. And crashed. By the time bits of the ceiling hit the floor, Harry was running the one way, Liz and Ron the other. Unfortunately, they were headed the same direction as Lockhart, who was catapulted backwards by the explosion.

“What the…” he started, then Liz knocked him unconscious. “Finally,” she said satisfied. “That’s what I’ve wanted to do ever since I saw his poster in the bookshop.”

Ron, on the contrary, looked severely battered. “Liz, what – how – why did you – ”

“Doing my job, what else?” She looked up at the stack of rocks and analysed it. The space between the rocks and the rest of the ceiling was big enough for an average adult to fit through, which meant that Liz could have fit in the gap two times. “And you?”

“Trying to save my sister.” Ron was pacing up and down in front of the barrier as well, seemingly calculating how long it would take them to get all those rocks out of the way.

“Ron!” Harry shouted from the other side. Either he didn’t know that Liz was here, too, or he was firmly determined to ignore her. “Are you okay? Ron!”

“I’m here!” Ron called back. “I’m okay. This git’s not, Liz punched him in the face… What now? We can’t get through – it'll take ages…”

"Wait there. Wait with Lockhart.” And Liz, would you mention Liz, please. “I’ll go on. If I’m not back in an hour…”

There was a pause in which Liz tried to find out if she could climb up the rocks without bruising her hands and knees all too hard.

“We’ll try and shift some of this rock,” Ron told Harry when Liz had just decided to give it a try. “So you can – can get back through. And, Harry – ”

“See you in a bit,” his voice came weakly from behind the rocks.

Then Harry set off and Liz set her foot on the first bit of rock. “What are you doing?” Ron asked her annoyedly. “I said we try to shift those rocks!”

"The fuck I'm going to try, I know what I'm doing. Why don’t you ask Lockhart to help you when he wakes up?”

“But Harry told us to wait – ”

“He told _you_ to wait, not me.” Liz had already climbed a fair range up.

“You will fall and break your legs!”

“Don't worry, I’ve been looking into Flying lately.”

“But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

“In your dreams!” Now, Liz had reached the top of the pile and started to climb down on the other side. She didn’t really _fly_ downwards, but she did trust her unconscious magic to bring her down slowly in case she fell. As of late, she was obsessed with the idea of autonomous levitating: Someone had told her Lord Voldemort had been able to fly without auxiliary means, and he was (or rather: had been) an Heir of Slytherin, too, therefore a distant cousin of her, and shouldn’t this justify that she at least wanted to try? (She had not been all too successful in her trying yet, but oh well.)

Liz ran up to Harry, slipping on something unidentified and landing on her nose when she was right behind him, which finally caught his attention. “Liz?”

“Gosh, yeah.” For the second time that day, she got to her feet. “Can you believe Gilderoy Locksoft slammed a door into my back? Idiot.”

“Why are you even here?”

“Lemme check the facts.” She motioned him to go on. “What do you know about Slytherin?”

“Mmh… not much,” he admitted.

“See? I know everything about him. Or at least everything you would find in the Hogwarts library. Could be useful, don’t you think?”

Harry said nothing, but at least he didn’t try to shake her off either. They walked on with the light of Harry’s wand until they reached a wall with two giant entwined serpents carved in, their eyes made of emeralds that glinted and glimmered like they were alive. Liz insulted them in a way that may not be repeated in order to keep the story rated as Teen And Up Audiences.

Harry frowned. “That was French.”

“Whoops. Go on, then.”

He cleared his throat. _“Open.”_

Liz shook her head. “That you always have to do it the decent way…”

As the wall cracked and the halves moved sideways, the snakes parted.

“Holy cricket,” Liz said astounded. But she didn’t actually say ‘cricket’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, listen. I have no idea if it's realistic that Olive Hornby and co. had access to chewing gum, but I felt like throwing a Shawn-Spencer-style quote in. Okay?


End file.
